The Downside
by Arwen Lune
Summary: Medjai backstory, takes place after the events of the first film. Ardeth is still finding his feet as the new leader of the Medjai when an obstacle comes onto his path.
1. Prologue and note from the author

  
_  
**

The Return of The Downside  


**On a routine parol, Ardeth Bay encounters a stranded traveller in the desert. She's wounded, and not too clear on what her name is  
  
_   
**A note from the author**.  
  
This story was published for the first time in early spring of 2001.   
I finished the first two stories: The Downside and Equilibrium, and was then ambushed by another plotline. Thus I never got around to finish The Upside, the third (and last) part of this storyarc.   
  
When I returned to the arc, on September 9 2002, the story seemed immature and strange to me. I would not, at that point, write such a story again. I no longer liked some of the plot. A lot of it seemed unrealistic and even Mary Sue-ish to me. Some of the writing felt immature.  
  
Before you, you see chapter 1 of The Downside, version 2.1. It has been not so much revised as it has been rewritten, and those of you who have read the old version before I took it down, will probably no longer recognise it as the same story.   
  
**Disclaimer:**  
I own the The Mummy and The Mummy Returns DVDs, a couple of ticket stubs from when they were in the cinema, a stack of resource material on Egypt and Arabic society, and my own rather active creative mind. The (for now nameless) female character is also my own creation. The rest is all provided by the nice Mr Summers. I make no money by writing this (but it'd be cool), and the only awards I gain are feedback and the fact that the muses will stop bugging me if I write it. 

**A note on Changes**:  
[October 14, 2002] While I was writing chapter 6, I got into a lengthy discussion with Sean, and we basically concluded that while a bit of creative freedom is fine, outright lying is something else. As of today, I have rewritten the injury of the female character to be a fracture of the tighbone, not a dislocation. (I was under the impression that a dislocation healed faster than a break, but I was proven wrong by Sean, who has experienced both and assures me that breaks heal much faster). Hence the change. 

**A note on language**:   
I use bits and pieces of Arabic in this story. (in my experience it helps to set the ambience) The words are – obviously – written phonetically. I have used Lonely Planet's little 'Egyptian Arabic' guide so it should be more or less the right regional language. Arabic is a beautiful language and I claim no knowledge of its grammar.   
_Translations will be at the end of each chapter._

**A note to romance fans:  
**At points, this may seem a little raw to you. I came back to this fandom after a break of more than a year, watched both the films, and came to the conclusion that Ardeth Bay is not, in essence, a very 'nice' character. His responsibilities weigh heavy on him, and I have a hard time imagining him just putting aside his duties to be cuddly with a woman.   
He might warm up, he might come to care and even love, but it would all need some time. It might also cause doubts in him as to in how far he betrays his duties by spending time with a woman.   
Readers of Terry Pratchett's 'Discworld' series may note a hint of D'reg here and there, and Ardeth is starting to take on a slight 71-hour Achmed tendecy.. 

**Note on weapons:**  
Sean told me that the weapon the Medjai use is really called a _Flambergé_ : "A double-edged sword, usually over 18 inches in length, with a wavy multiple-curved blade"  
Since that word brings up strong associations of _crêpe flambé_, I've decided that I cannot possibly use it in a serious descriptive sentence. It would make me burst into giggles each time. This is why I am going to stick with 'sword' and 'scimitar' even though 'scimitar' doesn't actually refer to the sword Ardeth carries in the films. Most fans are used to it being described as 'scimitar' anyway. Hence, not strictly accurate, but the best word in the end. 

**Note on realism:  
**As I am very much interested in Egyptic–Islam society, I enjoy getting as much of it right as humanly possible. Naturally, some of it will be right, some will be near-ish, and some will not even touch reality if it had a ten-foot pole.   
The Medjai are besides Muslim also _Medjai, _which means that their tribe law quite likely differs from Muslim laws at some points. Also, I have borrowed heavily from what I could find about Tuareg society, which to my surprise and fascination differs significantly from the more urban Muslim world. With the excuse of creative freedom, I've used this little space to expand on a little. A large part of The Downside cheerfully elbows its way into the gap between Muslim society and its differences with the Medjai culture.   
  
**Note on begging:**   
Feedback is wonderful. It warms my heart, speeds up my fingers, makes me think of my plotlines in different ways, inspires, stimulates and motivates me. If you find interesting things in this story, have comments, critique, praise or just want to heckle, please do. Use the review function or email me. I will adore you for it.   
  
Now, read on and have fun. *smile*   
  
Cheers,  
Arwen Lune   
  



	2. chapter 1 : Dalma saHra

**

The Downside

**

_ chapter 1 - dalma saHra _  
_(dark desert)_

  


* * *

  
Darkness. 

A small fire, some distance away. Around it could be seen the vaguely lit shapes of several men.

Deep in the desert. Deep in the night.

Where danger makes neither shadow nor sound to warn a human by a fire. 

A horse neighed softly, then all was quiet again. 

New wood was thrown into the fire, the sudden blaze lighting five humans. One sitting, the others asleep.

The sound of horses shifting restlessly.

The desert was silent again.

_Too_ silent.

Then everything happened at once. A robed shape stepped into the light and disarmed the watch with deadly efficiency. Horses neighed. The watch was taken out of the circle of light. Other shapes appeared. The sleeping men had awoken, but it was too late, too late to matter. They died quickly.

One of the robed shapes lighted a torch and carried it away from the fire. In the light of the torch the watch could again be seen, being held by a robed man. The watch, a lithe shape wrapped in heavy black robes, fought the attackers but was overwhelmed. After some minutes of struggling and cursing the attackers dragged their captive upright and pushed him further from the fire.

The ground dropped away in front of the shapes. The attackers wretched the arms of their captive behind the back and held the unfortunate close to the abyss, using the arms as leverage. Words were spoken, calm on the side of the attacker, angry and pained on the side of the watch. 

Then the attacker let go.

With a strangled cry the robed shape fell into the chasm. The thud that followed had a definite sound to it.

The attackers quickly gathered at the fireplace, and after haven taken what they wanted, they disappeared into the night.

  


* * *

Athir raised his head and neighed loudly. Patting the heavy neck of his steed, Ardeth tried to discern what had attracted its attention. The horse rarely made itself heard on a mission. When it did, there was usually a good reason to it.

Closing his eyes, Ardeth turned his head slowly, letting his ears do the observing. The desert was silent, the only sounds being the never-ceasing wind and the soft sounds of his men behind him.

Then, carried by the wind, the neigh of a horse reached his ears. Athir answered it. Behind him, the men murmured to eachother.

_Another group? _Ardeth wondered silently, _I had the impression that all the tribes were accounted for?_

he called over his shoulder. A middle aged man trotted forward, awaiting orders.

Take Rafid with you and scout the terrain upwind, he spoke to his most trusted scout. Imar nodded and turned his horse away to call to Rafid.

What do you think? he asked Fouad, his second in command. The older man cocked his head for a moment and grinned. 

A few lost tourists, perhaps. Who can tell?

Ardeth shook his head. A tourist would have to be very lost indeed, to end up in this part of the desert. We shall see.

Both men gazed to where Imar and Rafid disappeared over a ridge in the sand. Another neigh could be heard, and not long afterward the two men reappeared, leading a third horse along with them.

It wore a bridle, but no saddle, and it was not a Bedouin type animal like most of them rode. This one was slightly larger with a heavier neck, and its coat an unusual shade of steel-grey. The head was fine and sharp, with alert eyes. 

No man would let a horse like that run loose, he said softly to Fouad. Then, louder so that Imar could hear him:  
No sign of people, I take it?

No Lord, the man confirmed as he rejoined the group. Ardeth thought for a long moment. They were patrolling the southern side of Hamanuptra, meaning to make a wide swoop around the ruins and then return to their camp. Searching for the reason why this horse would run loose would take them off their course, but then, the whole point of the patrol was to look into any unusual things they might encounter. 

Set it loose, he ordered. Imar obeyed this with obvious displeasure in his motions. The horse stood for a long moment, its grey head moving from side to side as if it wondered if to go with the other horses. Then it threw up its head and turned away, running back the way it had come in a swift gallop.

Ardeth ordered his men to follow it at a distance, and in a calm canter they went after it. Before they had gone long, the grey horse suddenly disappeared from sight. 

  


* * *

  
The oasis was small enough to remain hidden to all but the most inquisitive travellers. There was a long tear in the rocks here. Out of the side of the chasm, a trickle of water fell down. Below, an explosion of life had taken place, making use of this shielded niche to settle and grow. There was even a small pool. 

The grey horse drank from it, not alarmed when the Med-Jai entered the small oasis. Not all the horses could be brought down here, but some of the men unfolded leather buckets and carried water to quench their thirst. 

Fouad murmured, looking around. The tear was not fifteen metres broad, but at least sixty metres long. One side sloped up toward the level of the surrounding desert; the other one consisted of a sheer rock wall, maybe twenty metres high. 

Ardeth calmly went up to the horse. It was obviously used to humans, but did not seem overly inclined to let him touch it. The horse raised its head and began to move away, not scared but certainly wary.

Ardeth extended his hand, held low, for the animal to smell.   
taa'la hena, he said with a low pitched voice. The horse lowered its head to sniff the hand, and calmed down, as Ardeth had known it would. Most horses lost their alarm as soon as you could invite them to lower their head. 

Taa'la maei, saHib, he said softly, leading the horse gently away from the water. It poises its ears to the sound of his voice, and then stood calmly while he had a closer look.   
It was grey as the metal of his scimitar. Most unusual. He took a step back and chuckled when the animal followed him, extending its neck to see if his pockets contained anything of interest. 

It was a stallion, and a costly horse at that. Nassar – the Med-jai's horse breeder – would have salivated at the chance to work with it. Besides a lot of tangles in its manes, there was no indication that it had suffered anything worse than a few days without a brush. 

Let the men search every inch of this oasis, he said over his shoulder to Fouad. There must be some indication to how it came here.

Fouad turned away to give the orders, and Ardeth continued to look at the horse in front of him, trying to work out what attracted his attention. It was well built, but not as a Berber horse, as most of their horses, nor did it seem exactly like the Arabic thoroughbreds Nassar used to breed lighter horses. Somehow it seemed rounder, the neck heavier, the head carried differently. It was a little larger, too, and the eyes stood different.

a voice called, and he shook himself.   
Fouad gestured for him to come over. Look at these marks in the sand... 

Ardeth knelt down and studied the tracks. Like someone dragged himself away from the water... Have some men follow it.

With that he stood up looked around. Despite the beautiful surroundings, he was ill at ease - like so often lately. When he was in the camp, he was eager to go on patrol with his men. But once he was out there, something urged him on and on. He hoped that he could conceal his growing restlessness to his men, but Fouad was perceptive.

++++++

A shrill scream echoed through the gorge, followed by the shouting of men and the sound of scimitars being drawn. 

Ardeth was there in seconds with Fouad on his heals. They came to a halt in a flurry of robes, and Fouad scoffed quietly. 

Seven Med-jai warriors were standing, swords drawn, around a small figure sitting against the base of a palm tree. It was holding a long wooden staff. Off to the side stood three more men, all of them limping and swearing under their breath.

Ardeth stepped closer. So, what warrants a reaction like this... he watched more closely, realizing that the figure was a woman. She looked pale; her wide-open eyes made her look very small. A large bruise marred her jaw. 

The men looked somewhat embarrassed, not eager to explain the situation to their leader. The woman seemed to be trying to crawl into the tree itself.

I see... Yes, on one hand, we have thirty well-trained and healthy warriors, who are besides skilled also _level headed_ the last part he said with an almost-sneer, and on the other hand we have what appears to be an undernourished woman who is not only frightened, but also wounded, and has as weapon a wooden staff. Yes, I could see that being dangerous. 

She did hit them quite hard, Lord the man countered softly while pointing at the three limping men. 

Ardeth paid him no heed. Let me have a look now...

He motioned for his men to step back, and looked down on the woman. She looked directly at him for a brief moment, and then glanced away behind him again, nervously keeping an eye on the warriors surrounding her. With a wince, she pulled her veil more closely around her hair and shoulders.   
What he had guessed from a distance proved to be correct – her left leg was swollen and laid limply when she pushed herself a little more upright. Probably broken.

Aasalaamu Aleikum, Ardeth started out in Arabic. Though her clothes were not the style he was used to, she did not look very foreign, and he figured she would probably speak Arabic. 

What are you doing here? He looked directly at her, but she averted her gaze. He reached out and shook her gently by the shoulder, aware that his men were watching.   
The woman hissed and cringed back, her eyes betraying pain and panic. 

Ardeth insisted firmly. She tried to dig her shoulders into the tree. Her fingers twitched.

She licked her lips, nervously. I... I do not know... Her voice was so soft that he could hardly hear her, but the confused look on her face conveyed her meaning. Ardeth motioned to Fouad to get the rest of the men out of there. 

All right what is your name? he was starting to get annoyed.

She seemed to wrestle with that for a moment, and finally confessed that she did not know that, either. 

Ardeth stood up and walked a little away from the woman. _Wonderful_. Memory loss. That is just what we need to simplify things.

Fouad gave him a look, but did not say anything for a moment.  
How do you think she got here? I very much doubt that she was travelling alone, but we have seen no others. Besides, who would leave someone sitting with a leg like that?

The second in command looked at the woman thoughtfully before continuing. And more important, what do we do now? We are on patrol, and what can we do for her?

We cannot spare the men to send her to Luxor. The company is small enough as it is, Ardeth decided. 

Could we take her with us?

Certainly not. She will not be able to ride for at least a week, and she would be a burden no matter what.

_But what is the alternative? _Ardeth mused. _I cannot leave her to die. She was put on my path for a reason and I must help her, Inshaallah._

He let out a sigh, knowing what he had to do but not liking it much.

Get the men to set up the camp, and then thoroughly search the entire oasis and the desert around it. I will need your help to set that leg, Ardeth said after a moment. 

His second in command looked mildly surprised. Set the leg? And after that?

after that, we will see. I have the feeling that a way will present itself. And now, I am going to have a little talk with her.

  


* * *

_Aasalaamu Aleikum_ – formal greeting  
_taa'la hena,_ - Come here   
_Taa'la maei, saHib_, – come with me, friend (in this context)  
– God willing  



	3. chapter 2 : Shiwayya Siqa

**

The Downside  
_  
_

**Chapter 2 - Shiwayya Siqa   
(Little trust)  
  


* * *

  
She watched his approach with a look of apprehension. Ardeth cursed inwardly. She was petrified, and that was not going to make this any easier. 

As if the situation was not awkward enough. One woman amidst thirty warriors – and a wounded woman at that. If she would be able to ride at all, it would have to be in front of someone. It was not considered proper for a woman to be with a group of men, let alone to ride on a horse with one of them. But what else could they do? He was not about to let someone die just because it was improper to save her. 

Isme Ardeth, he introduced himself, sitting down close to her. She blinked, glanced at him, and cast her gaze downward again. 

Do you remember how you came to be here? he tried.

I—I think I fell down she whispered. Small voice, and broken with thirst. He took his water flask off his belt and offered it to her. 

After a long moment she tried to extend her hand to accept it, but dropped the arm with a pained grimace. Was she wounded any further than her leg? Ardeth looked up to the rock wall, imagined a body hurtling down from it, and nodded to himself. 

Where are you hurt? he asked, meanwhile leaning closer to give her the flask. Apprehension flashed in her eyes at his closeness, but she gave no further sign of fear. He idly wondered if it was self control or numbness.

My shoulders, she frowned as if she had not really considered it before, but not as bad as my hip

She held the flask in thin, trembling hands, but waited with drinking until he had nodded in reaction to her answer. 

Ardeth looked down on the leg and hesitantly rolled up the leg of her wide trousers. The woman breathed through her nose, nervously, but did not react any further. The leg was thin - it was clear to him that she had not eaten in some time - and the fabric rolled up easily until it came to the swelling about halfway her upper leg. When it would go no further, he glanced at the woman and slowly drew his dagger. She shuddered reflexively, but did not move.   
He moved the dagger slowly, trying to avoid frightening her further, and cut open the underside of the trouser leg. He was careful to keep the blunt side of the knife to her skin. When he had cut through a few hand lengths of fabric, there was enough space to slide the remainder of the trouser leg over the swelling, which was large and an ugly black-blue.

What do you need me to do? Fouad approached, and put down several lengths of wood, and some tatters of fabric. The woman startled on hearing his voice, but her eyes were no longer quite so wide. Ardeth suspected it was not trust but rather the other side of fear, the side where one no longer flinched but simply retreated further within one's own body.

Didn't matter right now. 

The leg must be pulled downward a little, and then steadily back while I align the two sides of the fracture, he explained. Fouad nodded.

Let us see... You should sit there, holding the ankle of the leg. I will sit down behind her, reaching around her to hold the leg. We put the soles of our feet against each other. That way you should have enough leverage to pull the bone back into position, Ardeth pondered. He had seen how his mother set a fractured arm once, but a leg was a whole different matter.

The woman held still when he moved her so that he could pull her back against his chest. Her breath was flat and fast, and she hissed slightly when he touched her shoulders. To his surprise, she gave little reaction when he reached his arms about her waist and lightly put his hands on the swelling. It was very warm, and he tried to rest no weight on it.

_I hope that means she has no broken ribs, or this will do more bad than good._

Fouad moved his legs about until he was comfortable, the soles of his feet firmly pressed against the foot soles of his leader. He wrapped a cloth about the slender ankle of the woman and settled his hands around it, moving his fingers until his grip was firm and would not slide. Then he looked to Ardeth.

The Medjai chief looked down on the woman in his arms and could discern no reaction in her. Her eyes were wide but unseeing. He hoped that wherever her mind was right now, it was somewhere she would not feel the pain that was about to follow.

Na'am, when you are ready, he nodded at Fouad. 

  


* * *

  
She was really rather thin. Ardeth wondered how many days she had sat there, alone and wounded. He could cross his arms around her and touch the elbow of the other arm, so that she was being pulled against his forearms. Her lips moved in silent prayer. 

Fouad settled himself again and began to pull in earnest, slowly straightening his legs to give himself leverage. The woman hissed sharply and bit her lower lip.   
Ardeth held his own breath as he felt the bone move under his hand. It was an eerie feeling and he tried not to give too much thought to how it must feel to the woman. She was holding herself rigid, a thin trickle of blood running down her lips. Ardeth tried to concentrate on the mechanics of what they were doing.

Na'am, it is straight now, he said when the bone no longer felt out of alignment. It would now need to be eased slowly into its position, and the bone would soon begin to knit back together. It would hurt, mostly from overstretched or torn muscles and tendons, but that would eventually heal.

Fouad exhaled with a soft hiss, sweat running down the side of his face, and then began to slowly ease the pulling. The woman sagged against his chest, in too much pain to remember that she was frightened of him.

His second in command gently let go of the ankle and flexed his fingers to get the feeling back into them. It had worked. Both men let out a long breath. After a moment, Fouad reached for the lengths of wood - they were branches he had split - and began to construct a splint. 

You could use refreshment, Ardeth told his friend when it was done. Let me know if the men have found something.   
Fouad nodded and left.

Ardeth did not rightly know why he chose to stay where he was. There was probably enough of work to do, plenty of things to arrange.

But he was comfortable. 

And though he admitted to himself that she would probably not agree with him, it was nice to hold the woman in his arms. She had sunk into unconsciousness, her body warm and placid in his arms.

For once, he did not feel restless. 

Ardeth unfolded his hands and lifted them off her waist, not wishing to hinder her breathing. Using some water from his flask and a corner of his lithan, he wiped away the blood on her lips. She had bitten into her lip just so she would not scream. 

Had this been one of his men that would have been normal, but it surprised him that a woman – and a stranger at that – would care about showing pain before him. He wiped her lips a last time, and she drew a shuddering breath, moving her hands restlessly. Ardeth took them gently in his own hands and laid them on his knees, holding her wrists loosely. He had seen how the young children of his sister would sometimes wake themselves by moving, and it helped at times to gently hold them still. 

The woman calmed down. Ardeth smiled. 

He sat like that for some time, content to simply recline against the base of a tree with a stranger in his arms. She breathed steadily, her head resting against his shoulder. His thoughts drifted.

Was this what it was like to take care of a woman? If he chose a wife, would she sleep in his arms like this, trusting him to keep her safe?  
A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that this woman did not trust him at all, but before he could consider it, he heard the sound of hooves. A moment later the grey horse appeared, stepping calmly through the undergrowth. 

Ardeth was not comfortable with letting a strange horse come this near while he was sitting on the ground, but he had little choice now. He was with his back against a tree, the woman lying against his chest. Maybe if he held still, there would be no danger.

The horse walked over to them, ears playing as it sniffed the feet of the woman. She stirred a little. The horse threw up its head with a start, but then, overcome with curiosity, reached out again. Ardeth smiled softly.

The grey horse extended its head toward the face of the woman, and from a slight distance, breathed out over her. Ardeth recognised it as the way horses greeted each other. The woman's fingers twitched, and suddenly she was awake. She did not startle or tense, and he did not realise that she was fully aware until she blew softly against the horses' nose.

Ahlan, saHib, she greeted it. Her voice was so soft and low that it was almost out of hearing range. The horse nickered softly and nuzzled her shoulder.

_It obviously knows her, but does she remember it?_ Ardeth mused. _She called it 'SaHib'. Friend. _

He was wont to call horses that when he did not know their names. Would she do the same?

His attention was drawn back to the woman when she cringed and tried to move her hands. Ardeth realised that the horse had touched her shoulder. A touch gentle for a horse could still hurt considerably to a wounded woman. He released her hands, but that seemed to alert her to the fact that she was, in fact, leaning against a person. The muscles of her back went rigid.

Now Lady, I would not have gone through all this trouble had I been planning to harm you. He reasoned quietly, trying not to alarm her any further. The woman sat very still, and it occurred to Ardeth that he was more or less trapped. Not literally, of course. He could be away from here in seconds. But unless he wanted to either hurt or alarm her, he would have to stay where he was for the time being.

Ahlan wa sahlan, SaHib gameel, he spoke to the horse when it turned its attention to him. He put down the hand of the woman and reached up to stroke the horses' nose. It rumbled softly and nuzzled his lithan. 

The woman relaxed a fraction. 

What is it that you fear? he asked her softly.

I—I cannot recall, she whispered distantly. He could hear that she was not fully conscious, that the pain was drawing her mind away again. 

You have nothing to fear from me, he said softly, meaning every word. And if you wish to sleep, I will keep watch.

Ardeth was not sure where that sincere promise had come from. Not an hour ago, he had been irritated with the problems that her presence brought them. Now he had just promised her protection.

The grey horse wandered away in search of grass. After a long moment, the woman slumped against him, first with a somewhat reluctant trust, and not long after that, with sleep. 

Many people trusted Ardeth; his men, the people of his tribe, the leaders of the other tribes. But they trusted him to do his sworn duty, to defend Hamanuptra and his people. None of those people gave him a trust quite as personal and intimate as this. 

Who was this woman? How had she ended up in this oasis? It was not as if it were on a trade route or even a used path to somewhere. Around it was nothing but rocky desert for many miles.   
She was small, though he suspected she was not normally as thin. Her hands were not quite callused, but certainly used to hard work. There was a small dent in the top join of the second finger on her right hand. He idly wondered what that meant. 

Her clothing was a simple riding costume. Loose trousers and sleeveless tunic, covered by a coat of heavy fabric that reached her calves. The cut was not entirely unlike his own robes, but hers closed more snugly in the front. It was closed by a wide sash. The dark blue cloth of her robes was not decorated in any way, but the quality was good. A large triangle of thin fabric covered her hair and shoulders. He rolled the edge of it between his fingers. 

Good dye, not the cheaper sort that stained the skin.   
She was rich then - but that did not add up with the way her hands looked. There was also no jewellery, and he would have thought it had been stolen from her except there were no tan marks either, nothing to indicate that she ever wore jewellery. His thoughts went to the calm way she had reacted to the horse looming over her. Her reacting indicated that she had more than a sporadic acquaintance to horses, and that was unusual for any woman save those of the nomad tribes. She had spoken to it as if she were used to not just riding, but also caring for horses. 

But, if she were a nomadic woman, why was there no jewellery? There should at the very least be a tribe marking on her clothes, but he saw none.

A riddle.

She spoke Arabic like a native, yet her features were uncommon enough to seem exotic to him. The eyes stood a little wider and the cheekbones were a little higher than what most Egyptian woman looked like. It was also sharper, but that might stem from starvation. Ardeth estimated her in her mid-twenties. He decided that with the bruise gone and some weight on her, she might be quite attractive. 

What husband would let a woman like that go into the desert on her own? He shook his head at this own assumption. Nothing had yet pointed to the fact that she _had _been alone. 

He tucked a loose strand of wavy black hair back under her veil and allowed himself to relax. 

  


* * *

"Isme" - my name is..  
"na'am" - yes  
"Ahlan, sadiq" - Hi, friend   
"Ahlan wa sahlan, Sahib gameel" - hello, beautiful friend  
Lithan : thick, wrapped headwear mostly worn by men.  



	4. chapter 3 : Iktashaf

**

The Downside

**

chapter 3: _Iktashaf  
(to discover)_  
  


* * *

  
Ya sayyid, the young man called out softly. Ardeth opened his eyes. 

What is it, Amar? Have you found anything?

The young man nodded and pointed to the sheer rock wall.   
Up there, my Lord. Fouad said that I should tell you.

Ardeth nodded and began to shuffle sideward, taking the woman with him. She whimpered in her sleep, but gave no further sign of waking. When his back was no longer against the tree, he moved backward, gently supporting her until she lay stretched on the ground. 

But he could not leave her alone like that, could he? Walking away with Amar, he called to one of his men.

Rafid! Come here and keep an eye on the woman. The man nodded.   
But keep your distance, Ardeth called over his shoulder as an afterthought. His mind was already on what it would be that they had found.

It took a while to get to the point straight above where the woman was. They had to walk back out of the canyon and then walk along it on the upper side. 

A few men were digging about twenty metres away from the canyon. Ardeth looked to Fouad, who gazed down thoughtfully on four dead bodies. 

Four _very _dead bodies, he added to himself. There was a lot of dried blood in the sand underneath them.

Three servants, I think, said Fouad, not looking up. But the fourth man

Ardeth take a closer look at the fourth body. It was clothed wealthier than the others, in a rich, dark red, and had no belt around his tunic. _Must have been richly decorated, so they took it. _Ardeth thought. The face of the man, in so far that could still be seen, shared a few traits with the woman they had found.

_Her husband? Perhaps not, unless their family marries closer than most do. More likely a half-brother or nephew. _

The man was young, maybe in his early twenties. Ardeth shook his head and turned away.   
Bury them, and mark the grave, he said, walking toward the assorted things that had been found around the campsite. 

Would it not help the woman to see them? Fouad suggested. Ardeth considered this for a moment. 

To remember? Perhaps. But by the time she can come up here to look at them, there will be nothing recognisable left, he eventually said.   
_Not to mention that the disadvantages of seeing her decomposing travel companions would outweigh the disadvantages, h_e added to himself. 

He indicated a pile of what seemed to be mostly blankets.   
Was this everything you found?

Yes, and these bags here, Fouad pointed. Seems the contents were not rich enough to take along.__

They weren't. A much-worn night-blue cloak, a couple of simple tunics, and a pair of small riding boots.  
_Too small to be of use to the robbers, _Ardeth thought with a spark of amusement. _They must be hers._  
  
It looks like an ordinary robbery, Ardeth. I have no idea what else they had with them, but this is all pretty useless. Some tools Look at this book, what's that language? Can you say what it is about? Fouad was rummaging through the pile with interest.

Ardeth reached out and took the book. It had pen-drawn diagrams and reproductions of ancient drawings What is this I have no idea. And pointing at the last bag: Have you had that one yet? Fouad shook no, engrossed in a sketchbook with drawings of horses. 

The last bag turned out to contain a few horse brushes and some spare leather straps. Ardeth looked at it thoughtfully, and started to take everything out. He only heard Fouad the second time the man asked.   
What are you doing?

It is too heavy for just these things there must be something else... Ah.   
Taking out the last brushes, he revealed a second compartment. 

There were about six knives, most of them flat and light. Also several constructions of leather straps and sheaths. Fouad took one and held it up, looking at it in wonder. Now what is this he turned it around, and suddenly the thing made sense. 

A broad leather cover on the back, giving space for several knives, and two triangular pieces of cloth on the front, the construction closing with a buckle on the front. He put it down quickly, and almost-blush on his weather-beaten face.

Ardeth looked at his friends' shocked face and chuckled. Your wife was never open-hearted about the discomforts of riding? Seems to me that this one found a handy solution for a common problem, and a space to keep her knives at the same time.

The fact that it seemed like the woman used knives did not bother him at all – most of the Medjai woman used weapons, after all. What puzzled him was the idea that a rich woman from the city –or perhaps not, but not of a tribe- would carry knives. 

Fouad did not react, instead overlooking the things spread out around them. Right. We have archaeology tools, some books, and an undergarment with a knife-cover. What in the name of the Wise does that mean, put together?

That we have some interesting things that might help her remember, Ardeth trailed off, putting all the facts together and ending up with confusing results. 

* * *

  


  
_Her shoulders hurt._

For a moment there was not more conscious thought than the realisation that her shoulders were hurting a great deal. Then other things flooded into her world. How the ground suddenly dropped away. Hard hands on her wrists as she was suspended over the gaping chasm.

The screams of— of whom? Even in her dreams it was not clear, but she was sure they were her companions. The shrill, panicked neigh of a horse. 

All there was talking. First murmuring - later low, cool voices that never spoke to her, yet nonetheless made clear what unpleasantness would happen to her. Tanned, bearded faces that looked at her as if she were a thing. A tall robed man looming over her. 

_Ahlan wa sahlan, SaHib gameel_, a calm voice murmured from behind her. She whirled around, but hard hands grabbed her shoulders and forced her to the ground. Looking up, countless robed man surrounded her, loomed over her, swords at the ready. A tanned face appeared close to her, strange tattoages on the cheeks and forehead. _Isme Ardeth_, the man said, not unfriendly, but then the tattoages faded and he pushed her backward until he was over her. She felt sickened, but then his face disappeared in a swirl of darkness and panic.

Her leg, her leg was becoming numb. She looked up into the concentrated face or a tattooed man who pulled her ankle so hard that she screamed with pain. No—no that was not _her _scream; it was the dying scream of someone she knew. When it stopped, tears ran down her cheek. She reached up to wipe them away, but someone held her hands, firmly as if they were set in stone. Her struggling had no effect. It was as if her body was of rubber band, for she possessed no strength; could not even move her head. 

Somewhere, someone laughed cruelly at her pathetic struggles. 

As she fell into darkness, a voice shouted after her.

* * *

"Ya sayyid" – sir, Lord  



	5. chapter 4 : Amaan meena

**

The Downside  


**chapter 4 - _Amaan meena_ (safe haven)  


* * *

  


Rafid shifted his weight and looked around. His leader had told him to watch the woman but keep his distance. Normally, not a hair on his head would consider disobeying a direct command, but it looked like she was caught in a violent dream, and he worried that she might damage her newly splinted leg.

Surely watching over her included stopping her from getting hurt more?

Rafid walked over to the writhing shape of the woman and watched her intently. Was it worth risking the wrath of his leader for a stranger?

Just then she let out a pained whimper, and Rafid resettled his scimitar to point back, and kneeled down. 

While the Medjai took lives as needed in their sacred duty to protect Hamanuptra, to them this was for the greater good of protecting the world from the Creature. Those who did not come to disturb Hamanuptra were in no danger from them, and they were loath to waste lives that could be saved. 

he ventured again, reaching out hesitantly to touch her shoulder. A shudder wracked through her spine, and her face was contorted with terror. She tried to sit up, panicky, but Rafid held her back with a flat hand. It required little strength.

Her eyes snapped open and she looked around with wild terror before settling on his face. Her body heaved with her heavy breathing. As soon as Rafid saw that she had fully awoken, he released her and moved back to give her some space. She stared at his face.

He looked up and saw his leader approach. Rising quickly to his feet, he stepped further away from the woman. 

Forgive me, ya sayyid, but she dreamt so strongly that I feared she would hurt herself, Rafid said quickly, noting the beginning of a displeased look. 

Ardeth nodded slowly.   
I thank you for that. You may go, he dismissed the man. He trusted Rafid – the man thought levelly before he acted and rarely showed prejudice. There was a reason the task of watching the woman had fallen to him in the first place. 

He walked to the woman where she lay on the ground. Her eyes were open, staring at the sky. There was no fear in them now, only a dazed confusion. She was a lot more tanned than he had thought before, he realised. Her braid had started to become undone, the veil slid back, and the wavy dark hair framed her face.  
Ardeth moved his hand through her line of sight and smiled inwardly when she blinked.   
What did you dream of? he asked her, sitting down. He had brought the sketchbook with him, hoping it might spark some memory. 

I— falling she murmured. And there was she was silent, frowning slightly as she tried to grasp a memory, I do not recall. 

She was silent, looking defeated.

Perhaps this will help your memory? Ardeth suggested, meanwhile helping her to sit up against the base of a tree. He showed her the sketchbook.  
She took it from him and leafed through, slowly. It was full of pencil drawings, ranging from tiny figurines scattered through the margins to a life-like study of a running horse. He looked again, and realised it was probably the grey horse. It was caught in a gallop, manes and tail floating in the wind. Below it was written 'Khamaseen, march 11'.

The woman ran a shaking fingertip over it, but he saw no recognition in her eyes. Her breath shook.

Where— where did you find this? she said under her breath. 

We found it up there, Ardeth pointed to the cliff high above them, in a small camp. It appears that you travelled with four others he glanced at her briefly, they were killed. He waited to see if she would be upset, but just stared blankly at the drawing.

Should I feel sad for hearing that? she wondered softly, more to herself than to him. I know them not. She was silent for a long moment.  
The group was attacked? she asked then, changing the subject. 

Yes, and robbed. Little remains from what you had with you, only the things the attackers must not have found worth selling. I assume the grey horse escaped them, for he is most certainly worth selling. 

His sentence running to an end, he realised that she was staring at him. He waited, somewhat intrigued, to see what she would do.

After a long moment she raised her hand – her jaw clenched with effort – and touched his face, gently and somehow searching. She wore an expression of pensive curiosity. It took him a moment to realise that she was tracing his tattoages with the tips of her fingers.   
It tickled a little, and he was mildly bemused by the fact that she would touch him so fearlessly. No woman had done that since he had been a child; no one had ever ignored the fact that he was the leader of the Medjai. Few looked at him directly now, and certainly no one wore an expression such as this when they did.

He looked into her eyes again and smiled inwardly. _She does not realise that she is touching my face at all, _he thought. _I know that expression; it is the look of an artist seeing an interesting pattern_

One of his mothers' brothers was the sword smith of the first tribe of the Medjai. Ardeth always enjoyed seeing the man work; Omar could be so enthralled by the shape and style of his material that he almost seemed to consider its function of second concern. Even the most plain, functional dagger the man produced was a work of art, with elegant lines; the heft carved with protective symbols so as to provide the wielding hand with more grip.__

The woman suddenly seemed to realise what she was doing, and dropped her hand away, a little startled by her own action.

The tattoages? he offered, hoping to get her speaking. She frowned for a long moment, then shook her head.

They are familiar somehow. I am not sure she whispered.

_Perhaps some memories are beginning to trickle through it gives hope._

  


* * *

  


Fouad ventured to the small clearing where his leader sat with the woman. 

Shall we set up camp?

Yes, do, Ardeth said, thinking for a moment. Have them set up the tent here, please. Then scouts will go out in all directions to see if any trace of these attackers can be found. Ask Imar to join me shortly.

_That will give her two days to recover far enough to ride. If she cannot ride then, I will have to find another way, _Ardeth thought, finding that he hoped that she would be able to come with them. 

Fouad nodded and turned away to give orders. 

And what happens with me? the woman asked, her voice small and distant. He could see that she was in a lot of pain; trying not to show but ever so slowly gliding back into the darkness. 

We will see in two days if you can ride, he said, not unkindly. I would prefer to take you with us, because if you cannot we might have to leave you here with a couple of my men.

That startled her out of her haziness, and her eyes showed worry. Ardeth realised that she had really no idea whom she was with in the first place, and that she probably knew, or could guess, that not everybody was pleased with his decision to help her. 

Do not concern yourself with that, he tried to ease her mind, not all of them are pleased with your presence, but none will challenge my decision. You may not dare to believe it yet, but you are quite safe.

She just blinked at him, and he saw that she was already sinking back into unconsciousness. It was little use trying to tell her about the Medjai now – she would not comprehend, and he wasn't yet sure if it was safe to tell her. Better to wait and let her observe that she was not among a band of rogues. 

Come, sleep. There will be food later on, he said while guiding her to lie down. Her breath shook, but he could not determine if it was pain, cold or his touch. Covering her body with the blue cloak, he walked off to see to his men.

  


* * *

Abdul-Rahim had built a fire on the small beachside, and several men were busy cutting up roots and dried meat to make soup with. Tea was already brewing.

Rafid, would you and Halid put up the tent over there? he pointed to the clearing where the woman was. Rafid nodded in respect, honoured by the wording of the command. Ardeth did not often phrase his orders as questions. The two warriors sprang up to act out the request. 

Ardeth sat himself down on a flat stone and willed his thoughts to calm down. When they had set out two days ago, things had looked simple. They would patrol the area south of Hamanuptra. It would take at least a full week to round their trip and get back to the camp, and then there would be midsummer celebrations, and more patrols 

Now he had yet another duty, one that he did not mind but that rested heavily on his shoulders all the same. The woman would need to travel with them, and that brought up so many issues that the Elders would claim to need a week just to discuss them all.   
He sighed heavily. It would be so much easier to just leave her. 

No. It would _have been_ so much easier to have left her.   
It was no longer easy now. 

Not since she had placed a reluctant trust in his promise to watch over her while she slept. Not since curious brown eyes had made him smile. Not since gentle fingertips had traced the contours of his tattoages. Not since she had become a person to him, even though she did not have a name.

Ya sayyid? 

A voice shook his from his musings, and Ardeth looked into the bearded face of Imar.

Ah, Imar, I want you to take a few men and scout out the land. Look for traces of the attackers of this camp – the wind has not been strong, so there should be some tracks left, I hope.

Yes sir, Imar nodded, whom should I take?

Ardeth gazed in the distance for a moment, thinking of whom of his men would be best suited for the task. 

Take Issam, Faris, Abdul, Rashad, Adel, Hassan and Marzuq, he said after a moment. Imar nodded at the choices. 

Form four pairs, and give strict instructions to return here as soon as they have found something. They will return before sunset two days from now at the very latest.

Imar bowed and went to gather the men that had been named, leaving his leader to his thoughts.  


  


* * *

- madam

_

I. Love. Feedback.

_


	6. chapter 5 : Khusara fakkar

**

The Downside  


**_Chapter 5 - Khusara fakkar (lost thought)  
_  


* * *

  
Ardeth sat down with his men and was handed a mug of tea. Watching the hot liquid slosh around and around in the cup, he turned his thoughts toward the mission.  
If all went normal, it would take about a week of hard riding to round the route and return to the camp. Now, with the new goal of finding the attackers, it might take a lot longer. 

_But I want to find them, and I want to take them out, _he told himself. If there was a group about that attacked travellers, he would be the first to try and find them.   
But that was not very practical with the wounded woman travelling with them. If they did encounter the robbers and if it came to a fight, her presence could be a crucial weakness. 

_On the other hand, seeing them might revive her memory.   
_Ardeth mused over that for a moment, and then added to himself  
_in the most unpleasant manner I can imagine _

After a while he noticed that more warriors had joined the circle around the fire, and that some of the men were talking about the moment that they discovered the woman.

Did you think she was dead or something, Ghalib?

Yes, or unconscious then I was standing next to her and WHACK! the man clapped his hands to illustrate the sound. 

She does wield that staff rather viciously, Haytham agreed.

She is not very feminine, I will say that. Having a weapon and only to happy to use it! Ghalib grinned. He did not seem to consider it such a terrible trait.

Well, some of our women could equal that have you never gotten on the bad side of Adiva? 

Laughter all around.  
But what, is this woman possessed? I heard she did not make a sound when they set her leg.

Ardeth had not noticed Fouad sitting on the other side of the fire, but he heard his thoughtful voice now.   
Well, she did bite her lip bloody.

A few of the men nodded, but the conversation calmed somewhat now that the men realised that one of their leaders was listening along, and it moved on to other subjects.

Ardeth let his thoughts drift; hoping to resolve what was bothering him.

It wasn't even as if _he _found it improper to have the woman travelling with them. The heavy duties of the Medjai had turned them into a people of practicalities; they generally did whatever the circumstances required and discussed it later. It had been so when he had joined forces with Rick O'Connel and Evelyn Carnahan to defeat the ultimate evil.

No, it was not him who would get into trouble over impropriety. It was _her_.

Some might say she was better off dead than dishonoured. Her family, for instance. 

Ardeth shook his head to loose that trail of thought. They would take her with them. He refused to do less, and he could not be expected to do more. Trying to foresee all the consequences would only serve to give him a headache.   
Abdul-Rahim gave him a bowl of meat in hot sauce and a chunk of bread. Ardeth thanked the man and began to eat almost methodically. The food was good, but his thoughts were elsewhere. 

Though Hamanuptra had sunken into the sand five years ago, and the Nameless One had been defeated, somehow this had not lightened the responsibilities of the Medjai. After the strange occurrences in Cairo several people had made the connection and set out to find the lost city.   
One party had gotten lost and returned long before they reached it, but another did find it and had already begun to dig by the time the main body of warriors arrived. 

Should he have had them all killed? In hindsight it was clearer to him, but at the time he had pained himself over what was best. There had been two families, plus about thirty hired men and servants. Two young children had built a sand castle of the moist sand that came out of the hole their parents were digging. 

Ardeths' father – the leader of the Medjai at the time – would not have doubted a moment, but his father had been elsewhere. He'd sent his son to deal with the situation.

Not wanting to be alike his father, Ardeth had let them go. 

Not two months later uncountable parties travelled into the desert. The rumour – _Hamanuptra!_ - was out and about, and it had been his doing. 

Many of the tourists – he wrinkled his nose, for the word was distasteful to him – had met a group of stern Medjai before they got even halfway to the city. Golddiggers, no matter how desperate for wealth, tended to relent when faced with a group of resolute desert warriors. All of them had been escorted back to Luxor, with the firm warning that if they showed themselves again, the treatment would not be so kind. 

But other groups came with mercenaries, and it had been a hard battle to regain the city. Many men had died – he himself had suffered a deep shoulder wound – and all the invaders were killed in the end. So, by sparing the life of a few, he had offered up many more lives. 

The fact that few of his men blamed him for this course of events helped nothing to deter his own guilty nightmares.   
Ardeth absently mopped up the last sauce with the crust of his bread and stood up. No sense in dwelling on what could not be changed. His father was dead, had been dead for years.

He felt strange. As if they should be in haste, but he had just decided they would stay in this place for two days. It was strange to have to wait, and even though this was a very pleasant oasis, he wasn't sure if he liked it. The men felt it too – they didn't seem to know exactly what to do with their time. 

Ardeth grinned wryly. If he didn't give them something to do, by tomorrow night the tension would be thick enough to cut. 

You worry too much, my friend, Fouad appeared next to him. Ardeth held back a smile at hearing the voice of his second in command.  
What your father thinks of your actions is no longer of concern. There is no use in trying to gain the approval of a dead man.

_Fouad knows me too well. _Ardeth mused. _Or perhaps I have become predictable._

Is it this obvious what I think about? he asked wryly. Fouad chuckled under his breath.

No, but you look as if you feel you should know all endings, and no human can do that.

The men will hate her for being the cause of this delay, Ardeth changed the subject. That will not make the situation any better.

Fouad shrugged. Had we found only dead bodies, would you not have sent out scouts? But no matter, I'll set up a contest, it will give them something to do.

Ardeth nodded his thanks. This patrol is getting more and more complicated every day, he sighed. Fouad laughed softly.

Surely you mean more interesting! 

How, my friend, do you manage to see this so lightly? Ardeth wondered with a smile.

Because, Ardeth, AllahHakim saw it fit to grace me with a young spirit while burdening you with an old one, Fouad cheerfully clapped Ardeth on the shoulder and walked off, calling out to some of the younger warriors to follow him – no doubt for some tedious and tiring task that would aid their sleep that night.

Ardeth silently thanked the older man for his unquenchable optimism.

  


* * *

The woman was sitting upright, and her shoulders shocked with an almost guilty startle when she noticed his presence. She had been inching away from the place he had last seen her. 

_What is she doing? _

Where are you going? he questioned, his voice hard. If she was going to be a bother, he had no qualms about leaving her here after all. 

I—I wanted to get she pointed weakly to the branch she had used to swing at his men when they first discovered her. It was long and more or less straight, but did not look very strong. 

What do you need that for? Intending to hit more shins?

She shrunk a little, and Ardeth told himself to ease off. It was no use making her afraid of him; it would not make the next few days any easier. And if she was going to walk, she would need a staff to lean on anyway.

I will be right back, he said, and walked off. She looked after him in uncertainty. 

Ardeth selected a good length of branch and set about cutting it off. Maybe he should have ordered one of the men to do it, but he found it was pleasant to exert himself a little. His men were not the only one who got restless when they had to sit still. 

When he had the branch loose he cleared off the twigs and brought it to where the woman still sat. She accepted it with a look of confused surprise.

So, what _are _you going to use it for? he prompted. Her eyes darkened, and for a moment he thought she was about to say something sharp. Ardeth looked at her, amused. Perhaps she was not as subdued as he thought. 

I am going to-- yes, her voice definitely sounded less cowed now. As she spoke she folded her good leg underneath her body, placed the staff next to her, and began to get up. 

The word came out with a pained hiss, and Ardeth hastened to support her. She pushed her good leg straight, wavered, and had he not stood behind her, she would have fallen over. She muttered something uncomplimentary.  
Her breath came fast and harsh, and her left hand gripped onto his forearm with unexpected strength.   
Ardeth supported her from behind. More than anything, he was glad that the dull, fearful behaviour had disappeared. She was going to need all the fire she had, in the days to come. 

He pulled her back against his chest and waited until she caught her breath.   
Standing like this he found that she was taller than he had thought – the top of her head was at his chin height. She was thin, but her grip on his arm was strong enough.   
She was also standing quite close to his body, and though she did not seem to notice it, he certainly did. 

Are you all right? he asked to gloss over the moment. His voice was pitched low, and she shivered. Ardeth forced away the thoughts that centred on the feeling of the soft body against him. She had amnesia. Becoming involved with her would be disastrous. 

When he felt her breath slow down he manoeuvred her body so that he was on her left, his arm firmly around her waist. She used the staff with her right hand to support herself. 

She took one unsteady step, her teeth gritted, and then another. He admired her determination. No one would have thought any less of her had she not tried to get up for another two days, but she had decided she would walk, and she did. 

After about five steps, she sagged against him, the staff falling from her grasp. Ardeth smiled inwardly.   
You should not expect too much of yourself so soon, he said almost gently. She replied by colourfully cursing her painful leg into the seventeenth generation. 

A laugh escaped him – was she supposed to be of a rich family? She certainly didn't _sound _like it 

You find this amusing, do you? she asked sharply. Her voice carried an undercurrent of irony. He was about to deny, but something in her face told him _she_ thought it was amusing, too.   
No matter she forced out between heavy breaths, perhaps it –- is.

Ardeth helped her into the tent that had been set up on the edge of the clearing. Inside were the bags they had found in the abandoned campsite – but without the knives - and a pile of blankets. 

Eight steps the woman murmured, looking back. It was clear that this significant progress wasn't nearly great enough to her liking. He helped her sit down and then began to wipe away the top layer of sand, meaning to make a shallow hollow in which she could profit from the warmth of the sand.   
He was no longer surprised when she began to help him from where she sat. It was clear that she was at home in the desert, even though nothing could explain how that was possible. 

When there was a hollow in the sand long enough for the woman to lie in, he spread out a blanket over the sand and helped her sit on it. She arranged two folded blankets behind her lower back, as a support to sit upright. Her eyes were a little hazy, as if she was going to sink back into sleep again. 

I will get you some food, Ardeth promised. She nodded weakly, the fire gone from her eyes. He hoped it would return. 

  


* * *

AllahHakim – Allah the Most Wise One

  



	7. chapter 6 : yiHlam ghayr mafoom

**

The Downside  


**_Chapter 6 - yiHlam ghayr mafoom   
_(to dream incomprehensible)  
  


* * *

  
_Fast hooves thundered over hard sand. Steel-grey manes snapped in the wind, but she was not afraid, sensed no peril as the strong body stretched itself under her. Riding felt as natural as breathing – as if she had always been able to do it. The horse made a wide curve to the right, and the wind caught her hair. The ears of the horse played. _

_Khamaseen_, an unbidden memory came to the forefront of her mind. Its name was Khamaseen - gust of wind.   
The grey horse swivelled its right ear and propelled itself forward faster as another horse came up from behind, a large bay. On its back was a young man, his clothing dark red. 

her voice called to the man without her apparent command. As the bay horse galloped level with her own mount, he turned to her and laughed.   


The wind snapping the fabric of his robes, he passed her by, and in a horrible slow realisation she saw the ground drop away before the feet of his horse. 

she screamed, as the man and the horse fell into the abyss. The grey horse swerved sharply to the left, and then the abyss was gone, and there was no one but her in the wide surroundings. A sob escaped her, and she tried to stop the horse, to turn it back to where Amal had disappeared, but there were no reins, and the horse ran on.

Khamaseen! LAA! she cried.

Far away a horse neighed in answer.

* * *

  
Ardeth jumped up when heard the woman call out. It was maybe an hour before sunrise, his usual watch. He had brought her food the previous night, and seen to it that she ate a little. Then he had sat with her until he was sure she was asleep. 

A horse neighed, loudly – but not in alarm. One of his men got up to check on the animals, so he ran on. The woman keened, and by the time she screamed again he was already in the tent with her. 

A dream. He forced his breath to calm down. She was dreaming.

She was not wearing a veil now, and her curly black hair lay over her pillow in a loose braid. She squirmed, and he suspected she would have moved more wildly had her splinted leg not prevented this. Her arms flailed, and he held them down to prevent her from hurting herself. She fought his grasp, and then another name left her lips. 

_Khamaseen?   
Great Allah, I did not know hearts could beat this fast.  
_  
Lady! _Lady!_ he called softly, still pressing her wrists against the ground. After a long moment, her head snapped around to him, and her body grew still. She drew a shaking breath. 

What did you dream? he asked urgently. He knew she was not very coherent right now, but he was also familiar with the way dreams fade the moment you wake up. If he could get her to speak about the dream now, something of the memory might still be there. 

He—he disappeared she whispered, her tone so sad that he felt bad just for asking. And Khamaseen would not let me go back

Who disappeared? Amal? Who is Khamaseen? Ardeth fired questions at her, but in her eyes he saw that the images were already beginning to fade. 

She frowned. The horse Amal

You called that name in your dreams, he clarified.   
She closed her eyes, and slow tears ran down her temples. Ardeth let go of her wrists and gently stroked her forehead, hoping it would ground her. 

I was riding and her eyes flew open again, he called me Ester

Ester? Is that your name?

She smiled weakly through her tears.  
It appears so.

But who was Amal? he tried again. A pained look passed over her face.

I don't know who he was I dreamed that someone rode with me, and then he— she frowned, -he disappeared 

Her shoulders began to shock and she sobbed softly. Ardeth pulled her upright and just held her while she grieved for a person she could not remember. 

It pleased him that she made no effort to hide her pain from him this time.

_Then again, she has neither the energy nor the composure to do that._

Ya sayyid? Is everything all right? a voice called out softly.

Mish mushkila, Halid, he answered the man, Are the horses well?

The grey horse made some trouble; I think the shout startled him. They have all settled now, Halim continued. Do you need me further?

Ardeth dismissed the man. The woman in his arms – Ester, he reminded himself – had grown quiet, breathing softly. She made no move to pull away from him, and that in itself felt like he had just been given a small, unexpected gift. 

_Does she have a husband who knows how good it feels to hold her like this? _Ardeth wondered. _Or was this Amal her husband? Did he love her? Were they happy together?  
If I took a wife, would it be this pleasant to hold her?_

He looked down and ran his fingertips down the length of Esters' braid. She sighed with relaxation. 

_Perhaps it is time that I married. Nathifa is of the right age, and her family would be pleased. I could ask her when I get back—_

Ardeth shook his head to stop that trail of thought. No, these were his fathers' thoughts, not his own. He had sworn not to marry before he had found the woman he wanted to make happy, to always be with and to be with only. Choosing a wife because it was time to have a family had been what his father had done. 

Khuzaymah Bay had been a fine man and an excellent leader. He had led the Medjai for thirty-seven years, and the twelve tribes had mourned for a week after his death. All the leaders had spoken at great length about his grand deeds. 

But the man had not been a good father, and Ardeth still remembered the desperate hope that maybe today his father would spend some time with him instead of leaving his lessons to mentors. Remembered the tears of his mother; quiet, heartbreaking tears. Remembered the feelings of betrayal when his father took a second wife, and then a third.   
His father had married because a wife and heir was just something he needed to have in his position, like a horse, a sword, and men to command. 

And he wasn't going to make the same mistake. He was going to be there for his wife, and later his children, as much as humanly possible. He was going to make them _happy_.

_And perhaps, being the leader of my people, I am asking the impossible..._

Ardeth sighed. Leadership came with pleasures and burdens, and sometimes he was not completely sure that it was worth it. Right now he should be outside and supervise the men that were awakening, should be directing them to do something useful. But if he were honest to himself, he would rather stay here for a while longer, here where it was calm and no one demanded anything from him except his embrace. 

The woman sighed softly and nestled her face a little closer into his robes.   
_  
_

* * *

Ardeth let his hands hang down his body and circled his opponent slowly. Ghalib stepped cautiously to the side, running his eyes over his leader.   
Ardeth grinned a little. The young man had challenged him in a fit of bravery, but now he just looked nervous. 

He did not often spar with his men, but evidently he should do it more often if boys like this dared to challenge them.

He kept his gaze fixed on the eyes of the boy, confident that he would see the first hint of an impeding attack there, but the boy would not meet his eyes.   
_Let him attack, _Ardeth thought. _I could floor him right now, but I do not wish to discourage him completely_

They had both stripped down to the waist, and all weapons had been laid aside. The point of this match was to get the other to the ground, or more precisely to get both the shoulder blades of your opponent to touch the ground. Ardeth was very good at it – his mentors had made sure of that when he was younger.   
Ghalib was also good, but not yet as strong, and had the disadvantage of youthful brashness. The boy had no patience. 

That was evident now, as he leapt forward toward his leader. Ardeth set a quick step forward and caught the mans' upper arms in a firm grip. Using Ghalid's momentum against him, he diverted the weight around his own body. Turning with the younger man, a simple thrust-out foot helped his opponent to the ground. Ardeth followed him down to take him in the accepted hold, and pressed his shoulder-blades into the hot sand.

I recommend that you practise some more before you challenge someone, Ardeth said softly, making sure to keep his voice neutral. He did not want the boy to be the subject of laughter. He let go of Ghalid and stood up, brushing the sand off his body. It stuck to the sweat. 

Nobody laughed when Ghalid stood up. 

_Good. The one to make fun of him will have me to answer to. Now, a wash would be good, _thought Ardeth. _While we are in this oasis, I might as well enjoy the luxury of a bath._

While his men immediately began to arrange the next sparring match, he gathered his things and walked down into the gorge. Only Rafid was down here, sitting next to the fire whetting his dagger. A little way off stood the grey horse, perfectly still but watchful. Further away lay the woman in the shade of a palm tree. The horse threw up its head at his approach, and she stirred a little. Ardeth could not escape the feeling that the horse was somehow keeping watch over her. He sat down next to Rafid.   
How did she get out there?   
After he had extricated himself that morning, he had brought her a bowl of water to wash, and left her with the intention to see if she wanted to get out about halfway the morning. 

Forgive me Ardeth, but she asked me to help her walk, Rafid said quickly. Ardeth frowned at the idea that Rafid had held her so intimately as he had last night, but dismissed the feeling quickly. It was pointless – he had no claim over her. 

I know you have said to keep my distance, and I did not want to help, but she tried to get up regardless, and I thought it best to stop her from falling.

Ardeth nodded. You handled well. Do not worry about it.

_She manipulated him into helping her, _he thought with irritation. _Yesterday I have decided to help her and already today she is manipulating my men into doing things against my orders. I should have known; spoiled rich woman do not belong in the desert._

He looked at the horse thoughtfully. It still stood in the same place, one ear poised in their direction. 

It wandered up here not long after I helped the woman settle in there. It sniffled her hands and she spoke to it, and then it just walked over there and watched over her, Rafid spoke softly. She is asleep now, I think. 

Ardeth rose. You may go, if you like. I believe Haytham was getting ready to fight Amar when I left.

Rafid bowed and left.

When he advanced, the grey horse nickered, and the woman startled awake.   
_Not that that helps any, _Ardeth thought _–it is not like she could get away if she were actually in danger. _

He stroked the horses' nose for a brief moment, and then he made sure to approach her so that she could see him. Her eyes widened a little, and he remembered that he was still sweaty and covered with sand.   
She lay on her back, her head supported by a folded blanket. She was wearing different clothes, which if they were not clean then at the very least were clean_er_ than the set she had worn before. Her left leg looked strange; the splint covered by a new pair of loose trousers. 

She pulled her higaab closer about herself when she saw him approach. That amused him secretly – if she was worried about decency before him, she need not bother. The woman of the Medjai rarely wore veils within the privacy of their own village. 

Are you well? he began, kneeling next to her. She nodded slightly. He gave her an intent look, trying to discern her mood. There was still pain there, but she seemed content.   
he said calmly. But if you force one of my men to disobey my orders again, I will not be pleased.

She recoiled from the hardness in his voice. 

I—I did not mean to she stuttered in her haste, —to force him to disobey an order She looked upset. I just wanted to get out of the tent 

Her voice was very small now. Ardeth gave her a level look and nodded curtly. She probably had not been deliberately trying to manipulate Rafid – maybe she had just overestimated herself. No matter; his point had hit home. 

He felt some regret over the fearful look that had now returned to her eyes. He didn't want her to be frightened of him, but it was important that the men did not get the feeling that he approved when she demanded things of them. She might be used to servants, but he wasn't going to let her treat his men as attendants.   
Even though she had probably not meant it, trying to stand up when not getting any help certainly involved her having a good idea that she would receive the help anyway 

He rose and turned away. Time for that bath he had been promising himself. 

  


* * *

  
"Laa" - "no"   
_Khamaseen - Hot, dry Southern winds (often bringing sand) that last for approx. 50 days around April and May  
Higaab – veil, (female) head scarf  
Mish mushkila – "it's all right"_

  



	8. chapter 7 : Yibni siqa

**

The Downside  


**Chapter 7 - Yibni siqa   
(to build trust)  
  


* * *

  
He could feel her eyes on him. 

Ardeth stood in the waist-high water of the pond and felt the eyes of the woman burn into his back.   
It was indecent. She was not supposed to look when he bathed, let alone stare. 

It was intolerable. 

It was also exhilarating. His body felt as if it were her hands tracing the lines of his muscles, not her eyes. 

Ardeth glanced back and saw that she was looking from the sketchbook to him. Was she drawing him? He had not seen her draw before – had thought that maybe she would not do so until she recovered her memory. 

When she saw him look, she cast down her glance with a guilty expression, and Ardeth smiled inwardly. She knew it was improper, but she looked anyway. In a way it was vaguely flattering.

He idly wondered if he would get the chance to see her sketchbook later on. 

  


* * *

  
After a shave and a brief swim, Ardeth felt a new man. The cool water had washed away all the worries and pressures. They had another day in this pleasant oasis, and why should he not enjoy this time? His men had to learn patience, too. 

_That is my excuse, and I will stay with it, _he thought with a smile. He couldn't quite explain how his mood had lightened so much all of a sudden, but for a moment he could understand how Fouad looked at the world. 

Ardeth settled down next to the fire and set about to cleaning his weapons. It was a routine task, but it had a familiar, practised rhythm that lulled him into a trance-like state of mind. 

Except that it did not, this time. He was whetting his dagger with methodical, measured movements when another sound attracted his attention. Stopping the motion of the whetting stone momentarily, he turned his head to track the sound. 

She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, and the rasping sound continued. She was scraping away the outer bark of the staff with her nails, leaving a pleasing decorative pattern. He idly wondered if he could trust her with a knife, but decided against it. She seemed clear-minded enough, but he remembered well that look in her eyes when he'd first encountered her. He preferred not to give a weapon into the hand of someone who believed her situation was that desperate.   
_  
_She glanced up again, and on seeing that he was still looking, quickly turned back to her handiwork. Ardeth sighed.

_Perhaps I have been somewhat harsh, _he decided. _It might be better if I explained why I was cross with her. _

For a moment, that made him annoyed with himself. He was the leader after all, he need not explain anything if he did so desire. Apologising certainly was not behaviour expected of him.

But he hated to see that downcast, worried look on a woman. He had enjoyed the moments that morning, when she had been unafraid, and had leaned into his embrace. It did not sit right with him that she was troubled to look at him now. 

I_n any case, since when have I allowed my role as leader to dictate me what I can and cannot do? _Ardeth puzzled for a moment. As a new leader he was still in the stage that he did not want to do anything to discredit his position. Or at least, he had _thought _he was still in that stage. Now it came to it, he felt less and less inclined to compromise on what he felt was right.__

He got up and walked over to where the woman sat. She did not shrink away, which earned her his grudging respect, but he noticed how her muscles grew taut, alike an animal ready to flee - or attack...

_Good thing I did not give her a knife after all,_ he decided. _Even if she is hurting her fingers with this.  
_  
With a slight nod to her, he sank to the ground and continued the work on his knife. After a long moment he heard her let out a breath – she had been holding it, he realised - and she resumed her scraping. There was bark under her fingernails.

They sat in a tense silence like that for some time, both getting on with the task at hand. Several times, the woman stopped her carving and drew a breath as if she was about to speak, but then changed her mind. Ardeth idly wondered what she would say. 

I— I wanted to apologise she brought out eventually, and the words puzzled him. He gave her a level look, wordlessly awaiting explanation. But Ester kept her eyes on her work, making sharp, nervous scratches into the handle of the staff. 

For what? Ardeth asked at length, when no explanation was forthcoming. She drew a shuddering breath. 

she startled into silence when he reached out to touch her chin, willing her to look at him. Ardeth grew weary of the downcast eyes; it made him feel like someone he did not want to be. 

Then she looked at him, the startled worry in her eyes slowly dissipating into something he did not recognise. Her eyes were pretty, he thought vaguely. They seemed slightly too large in a thin face, but they were a warm brown, not black as he had expected. 

for being a burden her voice came, very small. Ardeth realised he was still holding her chin, and withdrew his hand. The silence lengthened while he scowled thoughtfully.

You have no reason to feel guilty over your presence here, he answered eventually, it was out of your control. 

He saw in her eyes that that was not what she had meant.   
Are you angry with Rafid?

That stunned him. He would have expected her to worry if he were angry with _her_, but she seemed more concerned with how he felt toward the warrior she had forced to disobey his orders.

I forgave Rafid, – there was relief in her eyes - and I will forgive you for what you did. I had not thought that you might want to get up already.

He waited a moment, and she cast her gaze down, nodding slightly. To his amazement she seemed more pleased by the news that he had forgiven Rafid than that he had forgiven her.

I want you to be clear about what you require. Do not expect anyone to anticipate your needs, but ask someone when you require food, drink or other help. Preferably you should ask me, Rafid, or Fouad.

She looked questioning.   
Fouad is my second-in-command; the man who helped to set your leg.

A wince of recollection flew over her face, and Ardeth hid a grim smile.   
You have nothing to fear, but I suggest that you keep your requests reasonable and polite. My men will not take kindly to being ordered around by you.

Of course! she assured him hastily, and she fidgeted with her fingernails, trying to get the bark out from underneath.

Something bothers you still, he stated bluntly. He was not used to having this kind of conversation with a woman. His men just said what troubled them, or kept it to themselves. Trying to work out what disturbed this woman was hard work, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. 

What if she began in a whisper, and then gradually her eyes sought his and her voice gained strength, what if I cannot ride?

He had considered that too, but he did not think that she would like any of his solutions. He could not blame her; he did not like them any better.

You will. Do not worry about it, he reassured her, but the worry in her eyes did not disappear entirely.

How does your leg feel? he asked, changing the subject. 

she replied with a hint of humour in her voice. And... painful."   
She was silent for a time.   
"I think the swelling is getting a little less though," she whispered, "And I am feeling a little better...  
He had to admit that she seemed a lot more alert. Maybe the bloodloss-induced shock was beginning to wear off. Her skin was certainly not as pale as it had been. 

I will adjust the splint for you, he said. 

She nodded somewhat hesitantly, but did not hinder him in his task. 

* * *

"Ardeth!"

He carefully put down the rifle he was cleaning, and got to his feet. The sun was setting and Ester had fallen asleep, her arms tightly about herself. 

Imar approached in a brisk walk, directing a disapproving glance at the sleeping form of the woman. The scout looked dusty and tired, but his proud demeanour never wavered.

"Imar, Welcome back," Ardeth greeted the man. Imar bowed stiffly, not removing the veil from his face.

"Ya sayyid, we have found tracks to lead in the direction of Nendjbaendjed. We have not followed them all the way to the city, but I am certain that that is where they were headed."

Ardeth frowned. Nendjbaendjed was a dead city, long ago abandoned when the wind – and with it the trade routes - changed. It was so deep in the desert that none now found it a favourable place to live. Could it be that a group of desert bandits had made in their hideout? There was water, but little crop would grow in the constant torrent of the harsh winds

Good. Have you seen any sign of the other scouts? 

We met Adel and Faris on our way back here – they are with the horses. The other scouts should return soon enough, Imar answered coolly. The man was in his fifties, and had long been in the favour of the previous leader. Ardeth had the feeling the man did not like him much. 

He nodded.   
You may take your rest, he dismissed the stern-faced warrior. Imar gave a barely perceptible bow, turned on his heel, and left. Ardeth sighed as he watched the first scout disappear in the twilight. 

A new leader had never having easy, of course. It took time to gain the respect and trust of the men.

In this case the process was complicated by the difference between Ardeth and the previous leader. In a detached manner, he found the process immensely interesting. 

Several who had always been in the background of the social picture had come forward and proven themselves reliable and supportive. Fouad was one of them. Khuzaymah Bay had not favoured Fouad, finding him distant and not inclined to blindly obey. Being of high status - the third son of the leader of the second tribe - the man should have been at the top of the social arc, vying for the favours of the leader. But Fouad had not cared much, and Khuzaymah Bay did not look kindly on people not fulfilling his expectations.

Fouad had been there three years ago though, when the Nameless one arose, and he had supported Ardeth's decision to work with the westerners - and did so until this day. Ardeth had discovered beneath the aloofness a calm man with a mild sense of humour.

Khuzaymah Bay had constantly proven to his men why he was fit to be their leader. He was the strongest, the toughest, the most skilled with scimitar and with words – and he could never let anyone doubt it one moment.

Ardeth had no intentions to justify his leadership in that manner. In the end, he was their leader because his father had been before him, and he doubted not that some of his men-given some training and time-could do just as well.

Take Amar, for instance. New warriors always attempted to establish a place in the group by trying to prove themselves, and Amar had understood within days of joining the warrior class that Ardeth was impressed by calm competence, not by brashness.

_It is taking the others longer,_ Ardeth grinned inwardly, thinking of Ghalid.

Some of those who had been in the favour of Khuzaymah Bay had a hard time accepting that their position was history. It had not been a conscious decision of course, nor had Ardeth meant to demote anyone. He simply found that when he distributed the more responsible tasks, he always found himself turning to Fouad, or Rafid, or Amar, or Halid

Imar still held a high position as First Scout, but there was little love lost between him and Ardeth. The man was cold and hard – a killer.   
Ardeth knew that his body was capable of the same things as Imar' was - killing was an inevitable part of the Med-Jai duties. Each of the men dealt with it in their own way, but Imar seemed to just do it. It unsettled Ardeth that the man could deal out bloody death apparently without even one moment of reflection.

Ardeth spun around when he heard the harsh whisper. The woman was struggling to sit upright, her cover thrown aside. A few metres to her left was a snake about as long as his arm.

Within seconds he was with her, his scimitar drawn. After a sharp glance at the snake, he sheathed the weapon again and kneeled next to the woman.

What are you doing? she asked, her breath a little shaky from waking up too fast, are you not— the snake slid a little closer, and she eyed it nervously —going kill it?

Ardeth grinned inwardly and took the staff she had worked on before. He gently touched the snake with the far end of the staff, and the animal struck out, its bite containing no venom. When the bite did not deter its wooden attacker, the snake began to coil its slender body around it.

Ester watched a little timidly. Ardeth wondered why she had been afraid of a harmless snake – she seemed quite at ease with the other aspects of the desert.

This is a Sand Boa, he explained gently, lifting the staff with the snake and all. A constrictor. It eats mostly rodents.  
He brought it closer so that he could trail his fingertips over the coils of its body. The snake was sand coloured with large chocolate-brown spots. Its smooth scales seemed fresh and new.   
_Probably shed recently, _Ardeth decided. 

Will it not bite? the woman asked shyly, her eyes glued to the snake.

We have not given it reason to, Ardeth replied. He waited a moment, but her eyes began to drift and she made no move to touch it or to get away. Eventually he stood up and brought the snake to the far end of the gorge. After he had gently unwrapped it from the staff – beginning by the tail it was not difficult – he returned to where the woman was. 

He saw that she had finally given in to sleep, and it stung a little that she had not done so until he had walked away. 

_Or perhaps I am reading too much into it. _Ardeth couldn't quite work out if it was his presence that worried her or the dreams she had been having.   
Perhaps both. 

_At least we can leave this place tomorrow. It might do her good to be gone from here. _Ardeth thought. _Then again, I'm not sure if the travelling itself is going to do her good. She will certainly not be able to ride alone_

He sighed inwardly and observed as some of the men were approaching the fireplace. Cooking would soon begin.

_Whom should she ride with? I should keep my hands free during the ride; it will not look good if I end up taking care of her _

But who else could take her? Fouad would need his hands free also, and the other men would certainly not be inclined to be gentle if he ordered them to let her ride with them. Besides that, he did not like the idea of someone touching her that intimately.

Immediately he scolded himself for that trail of thought. All said and done, he did not have any more right to hold her than any of his men. 

_But at least when she rides with me, I will know and control what happens _  
  


* * *

– Get lost!

Research on snakes: 

Feedback – as always – loved and adored.

Cheers,  
Arwen Lune  



	9. chapter 8 : Amaan yinaam

**

The Downside  


**  
_

chapter 8 - Amaan yinaam   


_(to sleep safely)  


* * *

"Wake up Ester, Ardeth sank on his haunches, carefully balancing a lantern and a bowl of hot stew. He reached out his free hand to touch her shoulder, but changed his mind at the last moment. They were probably still painful – he suspected that her arms had been twisted behind her back. Finally he settled for stroking her forehead.

your dinner is here."  
He was reluctant to wake her when she slept so peacefully, but it was long after the men had eaten, and she still had not woken. In her condition, missing out meals was not a good thing. He stroked her hair gently.

"Awaken, lady. You can sleep more later," he murmured. She whimpered and slowly opened her eyes. He was pleased to see that she did not startle.  
"Are you not hungry?" He asked, in reaction to her questioning expression. He set down the lantern and held the bowl of food so she could smell the aroma. 

"Not very..." -a little dazedly.

"I would like you to need at least something," said Ardeth, putting down the bowl. He placed a hand between her shoulderblades and helped her to sit up. 

When she sat, he picked up the bowl again and was about to give it to her when she slowly began to topple over. His right hand shot out to support her again, but in the movement some of the hot stew spilled over the fingers of his left hand.   
A low, sharp curse escaped his mouth. The woman shrank away. Ardeth quickly put down the bowl and shook the scalding hot food off his fingers, all the while keeping his right arm behind her for support. 

When he looked back to her he read the hesitation in her eyes. Did his cursing offend her? But no, she seemed worried, frightened almost. Perhaps it was his tone of voice that upset her.   
He tried in vain not to think murderous thoughts about the person who had made her as anxious as that. It would not help. He would deal with the robbers when it came to that. Right now he had to be calm and controlled and speak

It is alright. Nothing to worry about. 

without fury in his voice. He almost managed it.   
  
She took a deep breath, held it for the space of a few heartbeats, and then slowly let the air out. Ardeth could feel the muscles in her back ease. 

Are you are you all right? she asked the question hesitantly, and it took him a moment to realise that she was referring to his fingers. He took a good look at the offending appendages. The skin was a little reddened, but it did not hurt overmuch. 

I am fine, he said, and the relieved look on her face almost made him smile. Will you eat now?

Her face fell for a moment, but then she said, in what he was beginning to recognise as her humorous tone:  
I reckon I do not have much of a choice, after I made you scald your fingers

Ardeth grinned inwardly and offered her the bowl. She put it down in front of her with a soft 'shukran' and looked at it with mild distaste. 

My stomach does not feel so well, she offered as explanation, her eyes still fixed on the food. She reached for the spoon Ardeth had dropped in the sand and slowly wiped it off on her robes.

Yes, I have been meaning to ask – how do you feel, apart from your leg?

She shrugged, stirring the food listlessly.   
My shoulders seem a little better, and I just feel weak. It would be good to be able to move around.

Ardeth allowed a small smile at the impatience in her voice.   
But how is your leg? Has the swelling gotten any less?

She raised a spoonful of stew to her mouth and paused to answer.   
A little, yes. It doesn't throb so badly anymore 

She ate the spoonful of food, and he was glad that she wasn't waiting for his silent permission anymore. 

When are we leaving? she asked when she had swallowed her food, and Ardeth remembered he hadn't really told to her what was going to happen now. 

When all the scouts have returned, he told her, We will leave about an hour before sunset tomorrow. I prefer to travel at night in the summer months. 

And how how will I ride? 

On my horse, in front of me, Ardeth answered her. She put down the spoon abruptly, looking startled.

_Surely she had anticipated that option? _He asked himself. Perhaps he should have been offended at the worry with which she thought of riding on a horse with him, but considering what she had been through, he could not blame her for not immediately warming to the idea.   
For a moment he considered asking her to voice her fears, but he already suspected quite more than he wanted to know, and he did not think she would be able to give voice to her feelings in any case. Looking at her downcast eyes, he stifled a sigh. 

If there were any thing, any way to reassure her, to tell her things would be all right, he would have done it. But there wasn't anything he could do. No touch could comfort her, and he did not think words existed that could, either.

Surprising himself, he tried anyway.  
I understand how you feel— but did he, really? For a moment he wished he could take the words back, but she did not react. —but I wish I could make you trust that you are safe. I _will_ take care of you.

she whispered, her voice choked. She was still looking down, but he thought he could see tears in her eyes. Ardeth considered the question and found he could not give a specific answer. Eventually he settled for giving her the general motivation for much that happened in his life.

Because Allah Hakim has placed you in my path, and I must take care of you if that is His will, he said. She nodded, accepting this for an answer. 

They sat in silence for some time, the woman eating small bites of the food. Ardeth just waited; content to sit in the soft glow of the lamp. His mind was at rest, if only for a short moment. 

After a while he realised she had finished eating, and when he looked up she was looking at him with a faint smile in her eyes. She cast her eyes down.

Ardeth sighed. It had been a _nice_ look, with soft eyes that held no fear or distance. He was sorry to see it disappear. 

What is it? he was beginning to put it all down to trauma, but something drove him to ask her anyway. 

It's just You don't seem to relax very often, that is all

Ardeth chuckled.   
That is certainly true. 

The woman looked up again and smiled a little uncertainly. She was tired, he could see it. Pain could wear a person out. 

Would you like to go to your tent? he offered, and she nodded gratefully, already beginning to get up. Ardeth shook his head and scooped her up without further ado.   
Her startled gasp and tensed muscles told him she was not comfortable with this, but she did not seem to panic or hurt. Holding her anchored to his chest with one arm, he kneeled down to pick up the lantern. 

Calm down, I will not let you fall, he assured her, and she managed a faint smile as he carried her to the tent.   
By the time he pushed open the tent flap, she was already fast asleep. He kneeled down, holding her with one arm, and quickly searched the tent for any snakes or scorpions that might have gotten in during the day. When he found none, he gently laid her down and wrapped a blanket around her. She sighed with relaxation and curled up on her side. 

Ardeth smiled softly to himself. Perhaps Al-Wadûd looked kindly upon them even now.

* * *

Shukran – thank you  
Allah Hakim – Allah the Most Wise  
Al-Wadûd - The Loving One, as referring to Allah.  



	10. chapter 9 : Yisaafir

**

The Downside  
  


**_Chapter 9 – Yisaafir  
(to travel)  
_  
  


* * *

  
The woman wavered, and Ardeth laid a hand on her shoulder to steady her. Rafid brought Athir close by and willed the horse to stand still. Ester reached out a hand, a little unsteadily, and stroked the proud neck of the animal.  
  
she said dreamily. Ardeth smiled inwardly.   
  
Is he not? I call him Athir, he answered her, not without pride. The horse _was _magnificent, an elegant light bay and one of the few Arabian thoroughbreds the Medjai possessed. Most of the men rode the more common Berber horses.   
  
Shall we get you mounted? he asked when no answer came. The woman nodded dazedly, and Ardeth placed her hands on the sides of her ribcage. She shuddered a little.   
  
he asked, and the answering faint nod told him that the only thing she was more frightened of at this point, was to be left behind.   
  
He assured himself that the horse was still standing calmly, nodded to Rafid, and tightened his hold on the woman. Then, in one smooth movement, he lifted her up and toward the horse. To his relief she had enough presence of mind to swing up her good leg over the back of the horse, and her hands already leant down on its withers to lower herself gently.   
  
But her eyes were wide with pain, and before she sat fully in the saddle her eyes rolled away and she began to topple over. Ardeth cursed under his breath and grabbed her arm to keep her from falling off. The horse scraped an impatient fore hoof through the sand. Rafid tightened his hold of the reins.   
  
he called out, Come over and hold her for a moment.  
His second in command ended his conversation and reached up to hold the woman while Ardeth mounted to sit behind her. He wrapped an arm about her unconscious form and took up the reins. Athir shook his head impatiently and chomped down on the bit.  
  
Ardeth nodded to Rafid, and the warrior let go of the animal. For a moment it looked as if it might rear, but Ardeth lowered the reins to take the pressure off the bit, and the horse stepped forward in an active but controlled walk. He steered it in a wide circle around his men.  
  
Some of them were still busy packing and taking in water, others stood patiently until they would get the sign to mount.   
  
Ardeth heard the woman whimper and knew she was far from comfortable. It was her only chance for survival though, and she knew it. He could only hope that she would remain unconscious for a while longer – she was worried enough without witnessing the cold, disapproving glare Imar was sending their way at the moment.   
  
It only strengthened his resolve. He was not about to abandon someone in need just because some of his men disapproved. Even _if _one of them was Imar. He nodded to Fouad.  
  
All mount!, the elder man called out, and most of the men were in the saddle quickly. This gave them an excellent view of Amar, who struggled to mount his own horse while at the same time attempting to control the grey horse they had found.   
  
After loudly questioning the animal's parentage – which did not seem to impress the horse at all – Amar managed to swing himself into the saddle. The horses, riled up by the restlessly waiting others, took off in unison before the warrior could settle his weight in the saddle. He turned them sharply to stop, and ended up with both horses facing each other. The men laughed.  
  
He _is_ called Khamaseen, Amar! Rafid called out with a grin.  
  
I can imagine why! Amar replied with humour. Now he was sitting it was slightly easier to control both horses.   
  
The grey horse rounded its impressive neck and made it clear it was about to start discussing its position in the equine rank order, when Amar called and pressed his own horse to the side. The grey one ended up walking alongside. Some of the men applauded.  
  
Ardeth called out, pressing Athir into a light trot. The men quickly fell into line behind him, riding in two's. Amar rode in the rear, to have a little space should the grey horse play up again.   
  
The sun stood low and its rays were sharp. Ardeth pulled his lithan so that there was only a small slit left for his eyes. He checked that Ester's higaab was still where it ought to be, and settled down for the nights' ride.   
  


* * *

  
  
_She was on something that moved.  
  
For some reason that did not alarm her. The rhythm seemed familiar somehow, and strong arms held her, kept her safe.  
  
Ester willed her mind to explore no further than that; to remain within this hazy realm of comfort and safety.  
_  
_For quite a while she succeeded.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Then suddenly the rhythm changed, and a voice whispered something just out of earshot. The sound was uncomfortably familiar, and a shudder ran through her spine.  
The arms closed around her. Ester tried to resist but her body felt as if it was buried in warm, heavy sand. Something hissed by her ear, and she would have jumped if her body had only allowed such a thing.   
  
YirtaH, yirtaH a low, soothing voice rumbled. The panic subsided slowly, but the throbbing in her leg was beginning to become more insistent.  
Why did it hurt? She could not remember how that came to happen   
  
All of a sudden, one of the arms moved, and something heavy settled over her body. She drew a startled breath and ineffectively tried to push it away.  
she muttered weakly, and the arms came around her waist again, holding her still.   
  
the voice murmured, warm breath stroking past her ear,Do not let your dreams be troubled you are safe  
  
Ester did not quite know why, but she trusted that voice and allowed it to soothe her back to slumber.   
_  


* * *

  
  
The sun had been under for some hours now, and it was really beginning to cool down. Ardeth was glad he had wrapped his cloak around the both of them.   
  
Fouad came trotting up alongside the file, Is it a problem if Amar rides behind you? That Khamaseen horse has been nothing but trouble; I expect it might calm down in the front.  
  
Not a problem. How are things in the rear?  
  
I was just about to suggest we slow down to get the cloaks out, so that was timed well, Fouad smiled. Then, with a nod to the woman in front of his leader: How is she?  
  
Ardeth looked down at the covered head and frowned.   
I have been wondering about that myself. She was a little restless a moment ago, but she does seem to stay unconscious for a very long time  
  
Fouad frowned and steered his horse so that he could have a closer look.   
  
But her heartbeat is steady and she seems to breathe well enough, Ardeth continued. Perhaps it is best that she is not awake to feel this journey.  
  
The older man nodded.  
  
It is unfortunate that we are in this situation at all. Do you intend to cut the mission short?  
  
Yes. I want to see to these attackers first, then we can ride back to the camp via Abdelhakeems' old wintercamp.   
  
The woman stirred, frowning in her sleep. Fouad eyed her critically.  
  
"I hope she'll last that long."  
  
"She will just have to," Ardeth said, but his voice was harder than he felt.   
  
Fouad nodded in respect and turned his horse. Not long after Amar rode to the front of the group, trying to stay in control of two overly excitable horses. Athir tossed his head, none to pleased with the disturbance behind him. Ardeth lifted the reins momentarily, and the horse settled.  
  
It steadily grew colder, but Ardeth found that the bodies of the horse, the woman and himself combined produced comfortable warmth. The heavy cloak protected their bodies from the chill, and his lithan protected his head and face.   
  
All in all it would have been quite pleasant if the woman hadn't whimpered with every slight shock. Ardeth wasn't a healer, but he knew about infection risk. Especially since she was weakened already.   
  
_She does seem overly warm, _he mused. _But I fear there is nothing I can do now. When we have secured Nendjbaendjed she will be able to rest a few days.  
  
_There was no doubt in his mind **that **they would take the city. There _were _the Medjai, after all; they specialised in bloody victories.   
It didn't _have _to be bloody of course, but sometimes you had to provide the victories oral history called for. In the school of warfare of his father, a battle hadn't been won unless you were surrounded by pools of blood.   
  
_Preferably that of the enemy, _Ardeth added with a wry smile.   
He wasn't fond of the time-old tactics, but they were so deeply ingrained in his people that he had no illusions about changing them in his lifetime.   
  
_And for the moment I am still busy enough establishing myself as their leader, _he sighed. It was a process he knew would take some more time.  
  
Suddenly the woman gasped, and before he knew she tried to hurl herself sideward off the horse. He barely had time to tighten his grip around her waist and rebalance himself in the saddle.  
  
"That was _not _a good idea," he said tightly. The horse tossed its head and made a few uncertain steps. The woman held her breath. When he was certain she wouldn't try it again, he eased his grip and willed the horse to walk again.   
  
The woman said nothing. After a long moment she released her breath, and Ardeth felt a tremor run through her spine. He relaxed his grip, hoping that it would bring across that he wasn't angry.   
  
_I just wish she were more comfortable with me_  
  
Then he thought back to how they'd found her and what she had been through - the parts of it he knew, and those that he suspected - and berated himself. She had every right to be worried and distraught by his close proximity.  
  
"I--I apologise... I did not mean to--"  
  
"I know," he interrupted her, his voice carefully neutral. She took in the gentle dismissal in his voice, and dropped whatever she had been about to say.  
He could feel that she needed her privacy, and though it wasn't possible in body, he could grant her mental distance.  
  
After a time he urged his horse into a calm, rolling canter, and the rest of the group followed; a flurry of thudding hooves, heavy cloaks and steam clouds in the frosty air. The chill of the night kept the horses from overheating, and though the men had to cover their faces to avoid hypothermia, they could make good speed.   
  
For some time the woman sat upright, her back tensed to avoid leaning into Ardeth more than necessary. His arms lay loosely around her waist, but she breathed shallowly to minimise the contact nonetheless.   
  
Or was that pain? The makeshift construction around her broken leg couldn't possibly be comfortable; certainly not while sitting a horse. He hadn't paid much attention to it before, because she didn't seem to either. Now he considered it more closely, he found it impressive that she had presence of mind at all.  
  
When the darkest of the night was over he took the speed back to a walk. Athir was beginning to tire.   
  
_He should walk unburdened for the next march,_ Ardeth decided. The horse was hardy, but even the best horse would lose weight under these conditions, and they had little extra to spare for recovery.  
  
_It would be good if we could use that grey horse. Amar wouldn't object, I'm sure._  
  
But would the horse be reliable enough to carry a wounded rider? It did not seem all that level-headed from what Ardeth could see.  
  
The woman sighed deeply, and he felt her muscles relax, and her body melded against his comfortably. He could sense she was not yet asleep, but nearing, and though he did not understand why she sought physical contact all of a sudden, he welcomed it.   
Her fingers sought his, and she tucked her icily cold fingertips inside his loosely folded hands.  
  
Ardeth smiled to himself.  
  
She was comely, something he began to become more aware of now the bruise on her face was fading. He was also impressed by how she was holding up - with her broken leg and confused mind - among the Medjai warriors. It wasn't exactly a welcoming environment; lesser humans would have cracked by now.   
  
If only she weren't so damned _meek_. He knew she had been through a lot of unpleasantness, but it unsettled him to see her cringe whenever he approached. No woman had ever done that, and he did not like it one bit.   
  
He took her hands between his own and rubbed them in the hope of warming them. The woman sighed and turned her head so that her forehead rested against his jaw.   
  
_Well perhaps not **that** meek after all _he smiled inwardly.   
  
They rode on through the night, the woman alternately dozing and dreamily looking around herself. The rhythmic gait of the horse and the soft body in his arms made Ardeth drowsy also, but he was content to let his mind relax. The body would come later.   
  
By the time the sun came up, they had reached a suitable place to rest. It was only a ridge, but they could create some shadow for horse and man by means of their outer robes. The wind blew gently, taking away the still, hot air that would soon form under the shelter.  
  
Best of all, it was only a short ride to the city of Nendjbaendjed.  
  
"We will rest here for a few hours. Imar and Fatih will keep checks on the city; we will attack just past noon." Ardeth addressed his men. He did not miss the hostile looks some of them directed at the woman. From the change in her breath he could tell she didn't either.   
The men dismounted and routinely began to take care of the horses and make camp. Ardeth observed them for a moment and then helped the woman down. She almost sunk through her legs, shaking with pain and exhaustion.   
  
He helped her sit down against a saddlebag, and then wondered about the trepidation with which she looked up at him. After a moment it occurred to him that he was looming over her.  
  
Pulling his lithan down from his face, he sank to his haunches. When she said nothing he handed her his canteen and waited while she drank.  
  
"Now what is it you are worried about?"  
  
"That... I..." her voice grew very small. "What is going to happen to me during the attack?"   
  
Ardeth allowed his expression to soften.  
  
"You will be safest with the sniper group. I shall tell you more after you have rested for a while."  
  
She nodded, but her expression said very clearly that she rather felt she would be safest as far away from her attackers as possible.   
A faint smile slid over his face at that though, and then he rose to look to more important matters. Like the upcoming battle.  
  
The Medjai always attacked at dawn. They had done it time out of mind; attacking is what you did at dawn.  
  
However, the heat of early summer affected the sleeping rhythms of most people, and many times dawn was not the time people were just waking up. In this kind of heat, people lived at night, and slept in the heat of the day.  
  
The camp the woman had been part of had been attacked at night, too. Ardeth figured that attacking the robbers at dawn - though traditional - would cause heavier fighting and more casualties on his side.   
  
_'We attack at noon!' doesn't have the same ring to it though... _he mused wryly. But noon would be the time when any sensible man would have his animals rounded up, his tea cold, and his sleep inside one of the thick-walled, sturdy and above all **cool **buildings of Nendjbaendjed.  
  
Ardeth looked around for his second, and found Fouad helping a few of the youngest warriors construct a good-sized shelter from the small tent they had taken along. They were building it so that the woman would profit from the shade, but the young men were clearly uncomfortable and unsure of how to act around her. On the one hand, their leader was taking care of the stranger - but most of the other warriors were disapproving of her presence...  
  
They seemed to handle the situation by not handling it. They ignored her studiously.   
  
Ardeth looked at the woman, who had curled up on her side but was keeping a wary eye on the men around her, and wondered again how she had ended up in the desert.  
  
She seemed so... small, so vulnerable. So easily intimidated. A world away from the confident women of his tribe, raised to keep the camp functioning while the men saw to their sacred duty. He couldn't imagine how she had ended up so deep in the desert, with such a small escort, too.  
  
Would she ever be at home between the Medjai? Thinking of his mother and sister, he shook his head at the thought. She belonged with her own family, wherever they were. He would have to make sure she returned there.  
  
After he had discussed tactics with Fouad, Ardeth settled down to sleep a few hours himself. Most of the men were either sleeping or cleaning weapons and talking softly. The woman was sleeping an uneasy sleep.  
  
_I hope I'll have the chance to find out who she is, _Ardeth thought vaguely, and then he slept.  
  
  


* * *

  
**Note:   
**Lithan - the Arabic word for the wrapped headcover Ardeth wears.  
Athir – the favoured.   
Kifaaya! –   
–   
–   
  
  



	11. chapter 10 : Harara

[note: is this fandom dead? I know it's been a while since I was here, but gosh Most people must've moved on]

  
The Downside

_CHAPTER 10 – Harara  
('Heat'_)  
  


* * *

  
His mouth was unpleasantly dry. 

Ardeth licked his lips and reached for his canteen. The water was warm. He took a few sips, mindful of how little water they had left.  
The sun was now almost straight above the Medjai, and the improvised shelter no longer offered more than a small strip of shade. The horses stood in a close group, profiting from what little shade their bodies could offer, using tails to swat flies. 

The woman started awake, looking pale. Sweat stood on her forehead. Ardeth made a mental note to check on her later, and set about organising his men into groups. First he chose the best marksmen to form a snipers group.

The city was situated in a valley between two high sand dunes. Part of the city ran up the northern dune, and his scouts had informed him that only the buildings that were furthest down were in use.

_But as soon as the attack begins they will try to flee into that part,_ he mused._ The snipers could prevent that, and their shooting will cause panic, that will aid our attack._

He divided his remaining men in two groups; Fouad would lead the Eastern attack, he himself the one from the West. The harder choice was who to put in charge of the snipers. Had this been a normal situation, then he would not have doubted and put Imar in charge. He might not like the man much, there was little use in denying that he was very good.

But this time the rifle group would have the woman with them, and he wasn't altogether sure he trusted Imar with the life of someone's presence he obviously disapproved of. The solution was to get someone else to lead the group, but that would cross both Imar and quite a few others. Especially since the alternative - Rafid - was young enough to be Imars' son. He didn't want to put the young man in that difficult a position yet.

_But right now I am doing exactly what the men are unhappy about... _he realised. _I am putting the life of one woman above the best interests of my men._

Imar _was _the best choice. He would just have to make the man understand that he was considered to be personally responsible for the fate of the woman.  
_And perhaps I should take Rafid aside, too._

  


* * *

  
After he had sorted out the strategy of the attack, and all the warriors were busy preparing, he checked on the woman. She was still pale, but there was no more sweat on her brow, and her eyes betrayed a headache. Ardeth kneeled next to her and sighed. 

"Work yourself into a heatstroke, he spoke wryly. That _is_ a good idea. 

She looked at him, the sarcasm lost in pained eyes that held no understanding. He rose and collected a few things out of various saddlebags. Then he returned.

"Give me your hand," he ordered. She did it without hesitation. He sprinkled liberal salt in the palm of her hand and told her to eat it. Her nonplussed look would have been amusing if the situation hadn't been so serious. 

"Eat that, please, or I might have to make you."

That came out harsher than he had meant, but she did quickly bring her hand to her mouth to lick away the salt. When she grimaced, he gave her his canteen to wash the salt down. He waited a moment, but she didn't seem to be ill.

"Good. Now take off that thin fabric and use some proper headwear. A higaab is no use in this heat."

She looked at him, bewilderment in her eyes.   
"You don't have to take off the higaab if you don't want to, just wrap it around your hair and I'll help you make a lithan." he showed her a long strip of dark blue linen. That seemed to comfort her, and though she appeared far from comfortable with exposing herself, she did as he asked.

"The women of my tribe do not wear higaab," he told her as he leaned over to wrap the cloth. "It is not common among the desert peoples. None of my men will be affronted if you do not wear it."

That seemed to surprise her, and she nodded a little dazedly. A loose fold of fabric fell in front of her eyes. Ardeth could see a weak smile form on her lips. He tucked the last end in and then reached over to pull the fabric away from her eyes.  
"There. This part goes like this," he neatened the stretch of fabric under her chin, "and you can pull it up to cover your face." he showed her. "You should do that now, because we are leaving shortly."

She did as he told her, and Ardeth was satisfied by the result. From a distance she could pass for a man. If she took care to stay out of sight, none of the robbers would notice she was there.

But even the covering of her face could not conceal how desperately tired and unwell she was. On an impulse, Ardeth reached out and gently took her face between his hands. She seemed a little unnerved, but she did not try to pull away.

"When we've taken the city, there will be shade and cool water, insha Allah. We can rest there a few days. Just hold on, do you understand? And stay close to Rafid, he will look out for you." 

She nodded a little, and he released her to take the other thing he had retrieved from his saddlebags.

Here, take this in case you need it, he told her, pressing a sheathed knife into her hand. It was one of the blades they had found in the oasis – well balanced, the blade as long as his hand. 

"Shukran," she whispered as she made it disappear in the folds of her robe, and Ardeth worried again about the first signs of heatstroke she was exhibiting. Hopefully the water and salt he had given, together with the better head-cover, would keep her for a while. He was not making all this effort to save someone just to loose them to something trivial as heatstroke.

"Ah, Rafid, a word please."

The man closed his ammunition bag and rose to join his leader. Ardeth walked away from the group a few paces.

"I've put you with the snipers because you are a good shot," he began. Rafid nodded in acknowledgement. "But today I'd like you to do something extra for me. I'm sending the woman along with your group; she has instructions to stay close to you."

Rafid looked in the direction of the woman, then slowly in the direction of Imar, and nodded at his leader.  
"But will she do what I tell her? I cannot really use the distraction."

"Yes, as long as you are clear and commanding. Just don't shout or speak angrily. And I suggest that you find a safe building and leave her there until the attack is over."

"I will. What do we do with the horses?"

"Leave them where you enter the city. The scouts tell me the robbers don't use the uphill part of the city at all."

Rafid inclined his head in respect, and left to prepare himself. A few of the younger men had already begun saddling the horses; others had taken down the makeshift shelter. Most of the other men were shedding their outer cloaks and rewrapping the lithan. Young men joked and boasted; the more seasoned warriors prepared themselves for battle in a solemn silence.

Ardeth watched his men and said a small prayer for their safety. 

His father wouldn't have done that. Khuzaymah Bay would have given the attack sign, done his duty and buried the dead afterward. But Ardeth found going into battle stressful, because the chance was always there that he would loose men. And though he might not be fond of every single one of them, they were his responsibility, and he hoped to return to the camp with as many of them as he had left with.   
  
It was time to leave, he realised. His horse was brought to him by Amar. Then Rafid approached, leading his own horse.  
"Ardeth, she cannot walk to the city, can she?"

Ardeth studied the woman. Even though he could only see her eyes, it was clear that she was feeling unwell.

"No, and I think she can't ride alone, either."

Rafid looked unhappy. It was one thing to keep an eye out for the woman; it was quite another to ride a horse with her. His wife wouldn't be pleased hearing about it.

Ardeth chuckled, guessing his thoughts.   
"You can tell Yamira that I ordered you."

They approached the woman, who sat up and waited until Ardeth helped her stand up. She wavered for a moment, and he held her upper arms until he saw her eyes clear.  
"Come, mount," Ardeth said softly, and Rafid led his horse close. The woman looked at it with vague interest, her fingertips trailing over its shoulder.

Helping her up was easier now he knew how. Again he held her arm for a moment, but she found her balance easier than before. When Rafid moved to mount behind her, her eyes grew wide.  
"No no no... I can r-ride on my own..."

Rafid looked to his leader, who shrugged.  
"If you promise to warn Rafid the moment you are beginning to slip, I am fine with it."

She nodded hastily. "I will, I will."

Then Ardeth said to Rafid:  
"You are all walking, because the other groups have further to go. Find positions in the city and wait for our attack."

Then the men wished each other good fortune and went their separate ways.

  


* * *

  
Lithan : thick, wrapped headwear mostly worn by men.  
Higaab : the style of veil that covers hair, neck, throat and most of the shoulders. The face is uncovered. Worn by females.

Note: to my surprise I found that among Tuareg, woman wear very minimal veils, but the men always almost cover their heads - and in some classes their faces - with the lithan.   


  
[note: this a short one. It just seemed the best moment to cut off. Sorry *grin*]


	12. chapter 11 : Id Duhr

**

The Downside  


**  
Chapter 11 – _Id duhr_  
__

* * *

note: I'm no good at writing fights, so please forgive me for saving myself from this one. Also, I've been given to understand that while most sandstorms are brief, sometimes they do last a bit longer.  


* * *

  


The heat of noon was crushing. Ardeth wryly decided that though his tactics gave them better fortune in battle, it certainly did not make him any more popular with his men. 

Even Amar was grumbling under his breath.

The sand was soft and deep here, and the horses strained to slide down in a controlled manner. He could have taken an easier way, but that would have left them in full sight of the city. And Ardeth could not believe that even a band of raiders would be careless enough not to leave guards.

It would have been easier had that been so. Ardeth much preferred sneaking into the city quietly and surprising the raiders in their beds. Though that, of course, would not have been _honourable_ – the word had a wry taste to him, a result of having heard his father use the word too many times - it _would _have been efficient. 

But no, they would have to do this the old-fashioned way. Split up, attack from both sides, have some snipers on their side, and pray to God that his men might be spared.

He halted his men at the bottom of the valley, gazing off into the distance. Not far off he could just see the city, and far behind it –

Was that movement? He shaded his face with a hand and narrowed his eyes. Had Fouads' group already arrived?

After a moment he saw a sharp glint, and he took a small mirror from his saddlebags and shone a signal back across the city. Fouads' mirror glinted twice in reply, and then Ardeth put the mirror away and addressed his men.

We're hoping to surprise them, so don't shoot until you have to. As soon as we are there and the guards are down, split up into pairs of four and secure the buildings. Take no prisoners. God be with you all.

Athir moved restlessly as the men drew their scimitars and held them high for a moment, a silent show of fealty. Ardeth nodded, and the swords crashed back into their scabbards. It was time to act.

Athir sprang forward, the gathering strength in his hind legs exploding forward. Two, three leaps and he sped silently through the sand, ears forward, nostrils flaring. Ardeth smiled wryly as he remembered that his horse was more susceptible to the thrill of battle than he was himself. 

The two groups arrived at the same time, sweeping into the streets in a sudden clamour of drawn swords, gunshots, and hard hooves on cobblestones. 

The guards – only two – were dead before the horses had even come to a halt, killed by easy sweeps of a scimitar from a running horse. 

_So far, so good, _Ardeth thought briefly. He surveyed the situation. Many horses and Medjai were milling around in the main streets. He gestured for his men to dismount and begin to swarm in and out of the buildings on either side of the street, when men began pouring out of the city hall.

Some of them were only half dressed, but all of them were carrying weapons. Ardeth dismounted quickly, slapped Athir on the rump to send the horse away, and entered the fray.

  


* * *

  
It would have been nice to say that it was all over quickly, but it was not. Just as the main fight in front of the city hall began to subside, some of the raiders had somehow found their way into the upper parts of the city. Ardeth saw Issam fall with a bullet wound in his side. Choking back a cry, he turned around to return fire to the concealed shooter, but the man had good cover. Abdul-Rahim quickly dragged the wounded Medjai into safety.

But they soon discovered that there were cellars under the houses, and that with a few men with axes and a good sense of direction, it was possible to get almost anywhere in the city. The raiders evidently had done so a long time ago, for there was a maze of tunnels and cellars under the city. When they secured the city hall, the first thing they did was close off the entrance to the cellars. At least this way they could not be surprised from within.

But the city remained dangerous to them as an unknown number of raiders were still at large. They quickly rounded up the horses, though thankfully those were not in great danger of being shot – horses were valuable in the desert after all. 

Then, when both the attacking groups were safely inside the city hall, Ardeth sent pairs of his men into the cellars, hoping to drive out any raiders that were still hiding there into the sight of his snipers. 

It was nearing sunset when the shooting finally stopped, and by then Ardeth could see that a sandstorm was coming upon them then.

_Oh **beautiful** _he thought with a sneer. _It seems fortune is not with us today.  
_  
He barked orders, by then too tired to voice them differently. There was a long slash over the left side of his ribcage that pained him, but he allowed himself no rest. Men ran about in the gathering din, securing the horses, helping wounded Medjai inside.

Ardeth called out as the man came by, supporting a wounded fellow. Rafid nodded and quickly gestured for another to take over the wounded man.

Ya sayyid, it all went so quickly – they came from everywhere!

Where is the woman? Ardeth asked the man urgently, grabbing him by the shoulders. Rafid winced, but answered him rapidly.

I left her in a building far up. I tried to stay near, but we had our hands full and I deemed her safe enough.

Where is it?

Ya sayyid, we need to go back to get our horses in any case, I will direct you, yes?

Ardeth nodded, relief flooding through him. She was in a house. Safe. Rafid called a few men to him and gave them instructions. Within seconds they had found five saddled horses to carry them uphill. 

Ardeth watched it absently, his mind running over the damage the Medjai had taken. Then a horrible thought hit him. It _hadn't _been safe inside the houses. Not if they had cellars

He began to stride into an uphill street, all thoughts of Rafid forgotten. He had to find her. _Now_.

Ya sayyid! the clatter of hooves approached from behind, and he was tossed the reins of a dark bay horse. Swinging himself into the saddle, he nodded to Rafid in gratitude, and pressed the horse into a canter after the others. The powerful paces of the horse helped him uphill much faster than he could have gone on foot, and he stroked a hand along the crest of its neck in silent thanks.

Before long, Rafid, who rode in front of him, half-turned in the saddle and gestured to a shed-like building to their left. Ardeth nodded and motioned that his men could go on the retrieve the other horses, and reined in the dark bay. It tossed up its head restlessly, giving its fellows a longing look as they disappeared around the corner. 

he told the animal, slipping the reins through a ring in the wall.

Then he turned to the house.

It was a mistake to burst into the room. He was weary and his wound pained him, and the thought of the wounded Medjai he had seen distracted him – he realised this mistake as he faced a blade. 

The blade was held up in the air by a slight, blood-stained hand, and though he could see the muscles in the forearm tremble, the grip did not waver. The eyes of she who held it flashed with panic, then terror, then fury. The blade looked to be but a flick of the wrist and a fraction of a second away from lodging itself in his throat. 

Ardeth froze.

It was dark and oppressively hot in the shed, and it stank of blood. From the corner of his eye he spied a body lying face down in the sand, but he kept his eyes locked on the woman who was about to throw the blade at him.  
Her eyes were a little narrowed, and her breath was flat. He recognised the expression as that of one who has passed through terror and out on the other side, into a small pool of dead-calm insanity.

He took a slow breath. Perhaps it _had _been a mistake to give her a knife, but it was too late to do anything about that now. 

Her face was pale, and a bloody scratch ran over her right cheek. Her clothing was sanded and mussed, the front of her tunic bloodstained and torn, kept together precariously by her belt. The fabric of the lithan had come undone, hanging loose about her neck. Her eyes regarded him with a chill that told him that she either didn't recognise him, or didn't care.

Her fingers twitched.

For the fraction of a second he was sure the end was there and then, but then he saw her hand waver slightly, and a shiver ran through her form. She moved her head continuously, but her eyes remained on him. He wondered if perhaps her eyesight was failing.

She was exhausted, and wounded, and halfway on her way to a heatstroke. Surely he could overcome her?

Very slowly he lowered his hands. She made no reaction, and he leaned forward a little to let the door slide past his shoulder to fall shut.

Her shoulders twitched when it fell closed, and he could see her knuckles grow even paler as she gripped the knife more tightly. Her eyes flashed to the fallen form to her left, and when they looked back to him there was nervousness in them. He took a quick look at the dark-robed form.

Was it one of his own men? Did she realise she had slain one of the Medjai and now feared retribution? Had the man perhaps made the same mistake as he had – of barging into the door without caution?

But if that were so, at what point had her tunic become torn?

_YirtaH, yirtaH _he said, using a tone of voice that had previously been exclusively reserved for spooked horses and small children, I mean you no harm.

She began to lower the hand holding the blade, and he took that as a sign that he could advance a pace. That was another mistake.

The hand flew up again, its tremor gone. The ice was back in her eyes. He could see that it was her last strength she was expending here, but he also realised that if she truly thought to sell her hide dearly, her last strength might just be enough. His own had been a few times. 

_Would it help to drop my weapons? _He thought idly, his mind running over ways to end this situation. _No, for if that man did what I think he did, it won't comfort her in the least.  
_  
He resumed talking in a soothing voice, all the while watching for some kind of recognition in her eyes. When he saw none, he raised his hands – still excruciatingly slow – to undo the end of his lithan. 

Her breath came quicker now, dry and nervous. He took it as a clear sign that her strength was waning. He kept her eyes on hers, and began unwinding the long strip of coarse fabric. 

By the time he shook his hair free she was shaking, the throwing-arm lowered so far that it no longer posed an immediate threat. He kept a wary eye on it, knowing all about desperate attempts and what strength they could give a person. 

Now, dear lady, I should like you to put down that knife, he said finally. Her eyes widened as if she was considering that. Her arm was now alongside her body – no instant threat as far as throwing was concerned. But that didn't mean he wasn't in danger when approaching her. 

He took a slow, deliberate step closer. She backed away until her shoulders dug into the rough wood of the shed.

You remember me, Lady, do you not? he intoned, the tension and weariness trying his patience. If you will put down the knife I will bring you somewhere cool, and I will tend to your head.

The muscles in her jaw worked. Her eyes flicked to the side, where the body lay. Clearly she was worried about it – perhaps that it was one of his men, perhaps that he planned the same thing that man had done. 

Ardeth sighed, becoming rather frustrated with the situation. Careful to not turn his back to the woman, he walked over to the body.

Dark blue robes, and closely-cropped curly hair. He rolled the man over with his foot, and found to his relief that it was no Medjai.

Not one of my men, if you worry about that, he said absently. The man had died from a few deep stab wounds to the chest and stomach - a long dagger still stuck in his chest. Detachedly, he pulled it out and wiped it clean on the man's robes, then slid into his belt.  
He looked up and noted how the woman shuddered. Her knees seemed weak – but then, they would, with that heatstroke coming along steadily. Standing here in this oven-like shed wasn't doing her any good, either. 

You are far too stubborn for your own good, Ester, he said finally, shaking his head. I would go almost as far as to say you were impossible.

Her knife thudded into the sand and stood there, trembling slightly. Ardeth looked into her eyes sharply, surprised, and then advanced.

That's good, that's wonderful, he murmured soothingly. It would be such a shame if you died after I went through all this trouble, Ester, and again the name seemed to attract her anxious attention.   
Yes, you would die, if this lasted any longer, he said softly, taking one deliberate step after another. You are wounded, and your heatstroke is advancing

He was but two steps away now, and he was struck by how small she seemed all of a sudden. Dishevelled, eyes huge with terror. He felt a distant urge to wrap his arms about her and make that look go away. 

Now what? He considered. She didn't want to be touched - and he couldn't blame her for that. But he had to get her in the cool of the main building, and he doubted she could walk.  
He noticed that she was sidling away from him, the top of her shoulders finding support against the wall. All of a sudden his patience ran out. She needed to come along whether she understood that or not.

One, two long strides and he was upon her. He seized her wrists, using the length of his body to keep her against the wall. Tears ran down her face and she trashed painfully for a few moments, but then her body sagged, as he had expected.  
He scooped her up, for once grateful that she was as thin as she was, and retrieved the blade she had dropped. No sense wasting good weapons. 

Then, shifting her limp body so that her head rested against his shoulder, he nudged open the door and carried her out of the shed. 

The horse was gone. It had probably fled before the storm, and he could not blame it. Already, sand was flying on the wind, and he cursed himself for not donning the lithan again, for the sand battered at his unprotected face and neck.

_Never mind. It is not as if I could have mounted the horse in any case._

The woman stirred weakly in his arms, and he found thick, painful tears under her eyes. Already, sand was sticking to her skin. He shifted her in his arms for a moment, and quickly folded the fabric of her veil over her face. 

Then, bracing himself, he stepped out of the shelter of the shed and into the raging sand. 

  


* * *

– 'stay'  


Feedback goooood.

[note: I've always been intrigued by one of the symptoms of heatstroke that my First Aid book describes: 'irrational behaviour'. Decided it could be something like this.]  



	13. chapter 12 : Asifat Raml

**

The Downside  


**_Chapter 12 – 'asifat raml (sandstorm)  
  
_  


* * *

It had been another mistake, Ardeth soon realised, to leave that shed. And this one could turn out to be fatal. Even dark, dirty and oppressively hot as it had been, it would have shielded them from the scorching sand. Sandstorms were never easily dismissed, but when he'd set out he had been too concerned with the weakened state of the woman to see how close the storm was upon them. 

He ducked into the shelter of a low building and crouched down, cradling the woman in his arms. Though her face was shielded by the fabric of her veil, he could feel that she was awake. He put her down for a moment and quickly donned his lithan. At least this way his face was protected from the scorching sands. 

The wind howled around the corner of the house, throwing a new blast of sand at them. Ardeth cursed softly and realised that he would make no progress if he went into it again. They would have to hole up and wait for the storm to subside. 

That, at least, was not difficult. The door turned out to be only a few paces away, bleached by the sun until it did not stand out against the pale-yellow walls. Leaving the woman in the shelter of the wall for the space of a moment, he entered the house to see if it was safe.

This was a proper house with a thick roof, so it was dark inside, but passably cool. It would have been a good bolt-hole had there not been blood all over the floor, with two dead raiders at the centre of it. 

_Stay here? Or to look for another house? _Ardeth thought quickly. The storm showed no signs of letting up. Then he glanced about again, and noticed a hatch on the far side of the room. An entrance to the cellars.

_Dare I risk that? _He wondered. W_hat if there are raiders left down there?_

He could stay here – despite the dead bodies – but what they really needed was water, and the well was attached to the city hall.

_But did they not say that all the raiders were dead?  
_  
_Into the cellars it is, then._ Ardeth decided. He opened the hatch and took a quick look inside, then hurried to get the woman out of the elements. The storm was still raging. 

She whimpered when he slid his arms under her, and for a moment it seemed as if she might struggle. Her muscles constricted as if she had no power over them, and her hands clenched for a moment, and then she was still again. Lifting her, Ardeth hissed in pain as the wound on his ribs reminded him of its presence. The world spun for a brief moment as he rose.

It was dark underground, and he took a moment for his eyes to get accustomed to it. The air was cool and a little musty, and it was quiet. He had not realised how much noise the storm made until he could no longer hear it. 

_Right. I need to go downhill this way._

He couldn't quite keep track of the time as he haltingly searched his way through the cellars. It was a maze, and here and there were dead bodies, and sometimes he came to a dead end – but after a time he could smell water, and it became easier to navigate. However, blood loss was addling with his focus by that time.

He glanced down on the woman in his arms. He could swear she was getting heavier by the minute. Finally, when he came into another dead end and would have to retrace his steps a long way, Ardeth kicked the wall that blocked their way in frustration, stubbed his toes, and sunk down onto the ground to rest a while, cursing all the way down until his breath ran out. The woman slid down, her muscles slack once again, until her head rested against his thigh. Her forehead was unhealthily warm.

The floor – pressed sand – was cool here. Ardeth held his hands against it, relishing the feeling.

It took a moment before the next realisation presented itself.

Cool sand. Not as good as water, but it would help. He used a knife to make shallow hollows in the sand and put her hands in them, then covered them over with the sand he'd taken out. It might not help much, but if he could cool the circulation points even a little   
Her hands done, he took her veil and put a few handfuls of sand in it, folded the edges over, and pressed the resulting package against her throat. She sighed and moved a little closer toward the cool sand. He startled when he felt that her skin was pale and dry as parchment.

Sitting like that he again wondered how she had ended up so far in the desert. Dragged along by the four men who had died? But she was at least somewhat at home in the desert. Not in the way of the nomadic tribes, but she seemed to have a basic knowledge of surviving in the desert.  
  
Had she perhaps run away in rebellion, taking the others with her? He dismissed that with the idea that she did not seem spirited enough to accomplish such a thing, until he remembered her hard-headed insistence to walk with her broken leg. It appeared that she was only meek when it suited her.

And why was that? Was she truly frightened of the men and of the situation, or was it a deliberate survival strategy? He gave that idea some thought. 

_If she is truly frightened I could not blame her. To be alone in a group of unfamiliar men would be frightening to most women from the city, even without being attacked beforehand._

But what if it is a strategy? Even then I understand, though I would prefer her to be truthful to me. I suppose it makes sense for her to appear in a way that gives her the most chance to survive

His thoughts turned back to how she had come to be in the desert. Had the men pursued her to return her to her home? That did not seem unlikely, especially since she was in the company of what looked to be a rather valuable horse. But from what had she run away? An unhappy marriage perhaps? But then why had her kin pursued her, and not her husband? 

He looked down on her face again, and stroked a strand of the curly hair away from her forehead. She was rather comely now the bruises had faded. Not the sort of woman a man would let go of easily.

Putting that observation aside for later consideration, he shuffled the sand inside the veil and pressed the cool package against her forehead, eying her critically. It still didn't add up. She looked slightly foreign but spoke their language like a native, she wore rich clothes but no sign of jewellery, and she seemed used to servants but had still managed to survive in that oasis for days, badly wounded and alone. 

And she was crying. Silently, motionless, just the slow tears trailing down the side of her face. 

He did not know why, but he could take a guess. If Rafid had left her in that shed in the assumption that it was safe, it must have been – to put it mildly – an unpleasant surprise when a raider emerged from the cellar. She'd managed to kill the man, but he could tell it had not been easy.

Shouldn't waste moisture, he told her softly, wiping the tears away. His voice came out gruffer than he'd intended – he, too, needed a long drink of water. She did not reply, did not stir. He wondered if water, when he could get her to it, would be too late.

_No. I cannot let that happen._

He lifted her a little, pulling his legs underneath him so he could push himself to a stand. Putting a hand against the wall, he waited for the vertigo to pass. 

Time to go on, he said, more to himself than to her. He lifted her with a hiss as his wound once again began to bleed. Her breath hitched a moment, then resumed its previous shallow rhythm. 

he murmured, I will not let you fall.

He idly wondered why he was speaking to her when she did not seem to hear him – or perhaps she had not the strength to react, - but found that it comforted his own anxiety. He needed to talk, and if she couldn't answer, he knew she _could_ listen.

So he spoke, and once he started speaking, he found he could not stop. Told her of his men, his family, his life. His restlessness, even his fear that his men would come to harm, and the weight of his responsibilities, real or assumed. He used the rhythm of his own voice to keep moving his feet, keep her in his arms no matter how heavy she grew.  
He did not tell her anything that made a tactical difference – even wounded, parched and exhausted he was not incautious – but he did tell her a great deal more about his life than he'd ever imparted on someone. 

And when he finally fell silent, she'd stopped crying. He idly wondered if she would remember when she woke up, or if it had gone past her. 

And he wondered which one he would prefer.

  


* * *

Ya sayyid!

The voice was young and clear, echoing questioningly through the cool air of the cellars. It took him but a moment to realise whom its owner was.

Amar! I am here!

Ardeth was shocked by the faint rasp his own voice had been reduced to, but the young man did appear to hear him. Soon his footfalls could be heard in the adjourning cellar. Suddenly feeling more exhausted than he'd ever been, Ardeth all but stumbled through the hole that had been hacked in the wall, and sighed in relief to see Amar.

Ar-Raheemu! We feared that you had been caught by surprise!

How far? Ardeth gritted out. Amar gave him and sharp look, saw the soaked side of his leaders' robes, and held out his arms, giving him an imploring look. Gratefully, Ardeth passed the slack body of the woman to him, and then almost toppled over backward, too tired to compensate timely for the sudden lack of weight on his arms. 

Amar shifted the woman in his arms until he could carry her comfortably, then turned back the way he'd come.

Not at all far, ya sayyid. You were nearly there, he called over his shoulder. Ardeth hurried after him, though a clear-thinking part of him suspected Amar was in fact walking quite slow, trying to avoid arriving before his leader. 

He couldn't quite keep track of the way Amar was leading him, but by now it didn't matter much. Exhaustion and blood loss made his eyesight fail and his feet falter. He almost walked into Amar when the younger man finally halted.

Fouad! Open the hatch! he called up, and Ardeth realised that he was looking against the underside of a large hatch, its outlines illuminated by light from above. It opened, and the concerned face of his second in command came into view.

Ardeth! Al-Muhaiminu, you are safe!

He could not think of a better answer than a nod. Amar swiftly climbed the ladder Fouad had let down, the woman firmly anchored to his chest.

I hope you have two beds, he spoke under his breath. Ardeth heard Fouad give orders, and then turned his attention to the ladder. With one arm firmly pressed against his wounded side and a very hazy sense of balance, it proved to be quite the challenge. 

Once upstairs, Fouad gave him a searching look, then took him by the arm and led him straight into the adjourning room - their temporary sickbay. There were seven beds, two of which were hastily vacated by men who had come away with bandaging. The others had not been so lucky, but Ardeth found he could not gather the energy to inquire about their condition. Fouad sat him down on a bed and indicated for him to undo his swordbelt so he could look at the damage.

While working the buckle, Ardeth frowned as he suddenly remembered something. Amar had put down the woman on the next bed over – she had not stirred.

he indicated her, has a heatstroke 

He wanted to say more, but Fouad nodded and called for water and bandages. Then – because no matter what, his leader went first – he examined the wound, declared Ardeth a lucky man, and bandaged it tightly. 

Now rest, sahibi. I will see to her, he said finally, nodding his head in the direction of the woman. He put down a full jug of cool water, indicated for Ardeth to lie down, and left.

Ardeth closed his eyes. Not far off he could hear Fouad busy himself with wet rags to cool Ester down.

It felt good to close his eyes and let things happen, but before long his responsibilities came back to him. How were his men? How many wounded, how many dead?  
Had all the raiders been dealt with? Were the horses safe from the storm? Had Rafid returned in time, or was he still out there somewhere, hiding from the raging sand?

Now he dwelt on it, _was_ the storm still raging? He stayed very still for a moment, trying to filter out the sounds of the men. 

Crackling. They'd lit a fire, and he heard a tinny sound that would be a kettle. They were making tea. That probably meant that either everything was secured, or the storm was still strong and they were waiting it out. 

It sounded busy in there, and there was the sound of weapons being cleaned, stories told; but hushed, as if the men were concerned enough for the wounded to want to avoid disturbing them.

That meant there were men badly wounded, Ardeth decided. Or were they concerned for him? And should they be? For all his sharp hearing, he could not discern if the storm was still raging.

How do you feel? Fouad called his attention back to where he was. 

I can recall times that I felt better, he admitted to his second in command. The older man grinned and sat down on the edge of the bed.

I can imagine. Here, drink something.

Ardeth tried to press himself up on his arms so that he could sit more upright, but found he had not the energy. Fouad had to help him sit.

Drinking with small sips, he could look around the room. In the beds opposite of him, five men lay.

How did we do? he finally asked Fouad. The older man sighed.

Well enough, I suppose. Issam is dead—

Well enough!? Ardeth choked on his water. Fouad held up a hand to forestall him.

For an attack on a well-defended place like this, with forty people to defend it? Yes, I think it went well enough. He was shot by a raider who'd come up through the cellars, the first in fact. Bahir has a bullet in the side, but I think he'll make it, Hisham took a bullet in the thigh Ghalib has a deep slash in the arm. He'll live, but if he keeps the use of his arm that I cannot say yet.

Ardeth just nodded, throat constricted as he thought of his men. He'd meant to keep _all _of them alive

Jawad was trampled by a horse, but I do not think he has any internal damage. Nasir broke a rib, and the rest is cuts and bruises.

He nodded reluctantly. Perhaps Fouad was right and they did not do badly, but one dead and five heavily wounded was still too much to his tastes.

Oh, and your charity project, Fouad gestured to the next bed over, had some sort of argument with someone with large hands. There are bruises on her throat, and she has a heatstroke, as you said. I am trying to cool her down, but it would help if she awoke, so I can let her drink.

Ardeth nodded, looking at the woman.  
I found her in a shed with an opening to the cellars

Fouad winced.

With a certainly very dead raider. It must have been quite a struggle, Ardeth continued. In any case, how are we doing? Is the storm over yet?

Ah, I believe she is just beginning to ease off. It is nearing sunset, so it took her long enough

They were both silent for a moment. Ardeth felt his eyes beginning to drift shut. Then Fouad chuckled quietly.

Did you know that we've got more than two times as many horses now? And we will need all of them too, to bear that great pile of treasure back to our camp.

Ardeth raised an eyebrow.  


Oh, not that kind, not to worry. But they must have robbed caravans for years, for there is quite a lot of fancy stuff here. They must have used this place for a long time.

A lot of horses you said? Ardeth let himself slide down until he was lying on his back again. He could just rest for a short while. There was no haste right now.

A lot of _good _horses, though we won't be able to take all of them. I'm sure Nassar will be most pleased with the results of this mission.

Ardeth chuckled softly at the thought of the horsemaster of the Medjai. His eyes were already closed. Fouad smiled, carefully took the cup from the now-placid hand of his leader, and left to see if there was tea yet.  
  


* * *

Ar-Raheemu – Allah the Merciful  
Al-Muhaiminu – Allah the Protector  
Sahibi – my friend  



	14. chapter 13 : Vida En El Otro Lado

**

The Downside  


**  
_Chapter 13 - Vida En El Otro Lado   
'Life On The Other Side'  
_

* * *

Note: whoohoo! Finally, the Big Switch. We'll continue the story from Esters' point of view. Yes, I love doing this grin

* * *

  
  
Her body had stopped working. 

Oh, it had worked for a long time. Even when she'd broken her leg, even when she had to be on a horse, even when that man attacked her. 

But then another man had come, and she had felt it right away – she did not have the strength to withstand another. Not that he hadn't tried it regardless, even though she could hardly see him. It had been over soon, and to her own shame she had been glad of it. It was out of her control.

Then she had woken again, but found herself unharmed and – an even larger surprise – fully clothed. A man – was it the same man? - had carried her, and though she hated to be in that position, there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Her muscles would not obey, her limbs not move, her eyes not open. The only things that worked were the tears, and she could not stop those, although they were sharp and painful. 

She'd started when someone had spoken and wiped them away, but she did not try to stop the tears. They were all she could do now, and she cried bitterly for Amal, her beloved cousin, and for Malik, Rashid and Saud. 

But wait, was that knowledge not new? Confused, she tried to work out why it felt as if she had just rejoined with the memories of her cousin and his servants. Their names and faces felt as familiar to her as the delicately embroidered childhood blanket her madre had given her when she was small. 

But then where was she now? In the arms of of some kind of warrior. Unbidden, the image of a young man with hard eyes came to her. He had sat on her legs and called her—  
_NO!_ Part of her insisted, and she reeled back, abandoned the trail of thought. But there was something with names. The man who had overwhelmed her before – was it the same that carried her now? – had called her Ester.

But that was right, was it not? Her name _was _Ester.   
Ester Imtiyaz Il Fernández, daughter of Juan Fernández and Husniyah Imtiyaz.

The names came to her easily, as if they had always been there, but somehow she knew they had not – that there had been a time that she did not remember them. Now they were comfortingly familiar, like walking into the stables and hearing Amáble whicker to her. Soothing.   
Looking for the shard she knew had to be there, she groped around in her hazy memories.

and cut herself.   
Dark robed men, many of them. Drawn swords. Some of them had tattoaged faces, others did not. A man pulled her ankle so hard that sweat had beaded on the blue-black drawings on his forehead. A lake. A snake.

If she could have cried out, she would have. Abandoning the direction, she tried again.

Grey horse running. _Khamaseen, _she knew. If horses could be considered friends, this one was hers. The lake again, its surface disturbed by a man standing in the middle of it.   
She'd drawn him, she was sure of it. The hard lines, flat planes adorned by more tattoages, the neat beard. But his face scowled at her, and his voice sounded angry when he spoke to her.

No, that was not right. It was the same voice that spoke to her now, told her of worries and hardships in a gentle, weary tone.   
It was the same voice that had said her name before. 

And what was happening now? She was jolted, heard another man speak, then many others. Did it matter, she asked herself. No matter what it was, there was nothing whatsoever she could do about it. 

For good or bad, it was out of her hands, and for that, she cried.

  


* * *

I do wish she would stop wasting moisture like this, a soft voice spoke, and a callused finger wiped the harsh salt of the tears away.

She cried while I carried her here, another voice said with what sounded like a shrug. I wondered if she was awake then.

She really needs water, but I dare not try if she is not awake to swallow it the first voice said. Ester suddenly found that the idea of water sounded very good to her. But how was she going to bring that across to these voices if she could not move?

A cool hand felt her brow and then placed something heavy and wet over it. A cool cloth. It felt wonderful. Then something started tickling under her nose.

Her first impulse was to bring up her arm to wipe at the itching thing, but the command was lost somewhere between brain and arm, and her hands felt weighted down, as if they had been buried. A shiver ran through her spine, and her entire body felt numb and heavy. 

A soft chuckle sounded not far to her left, and she froze.

It took a moment to realise that she _could _freeze, that her muscles obeyed her to be taut and still.

Ester, can you hear me? Give a sign that you can hear me, we know you can, coaxed the second voice, the familiar voice. It was the same one that had been angry and then compassionate. 

She strained to send an impulse to her hands, but they were still weighed down, and she was ready to give up when the cool weight was lifted from her left hand. Then all of a sudden it seemed easy, and she suppressed a victorious feeling when she managed to make her fingers twitch.

_I hope you have seen that, _she thought vaguely, _for I have no energy to try it again._

That is wonderful, said the first voice, almost cheerfully. I'm going to help you sit upright, and then we'll see if you can drink.

The damp cloth was lifted from her forehead, and strong hands reached behind her to pull her upright. It hurt, and it frightened her, for she had no part in it, could not stop them from handling her. New tears scorched their way down her heated skin. 

A breath brushed over her right ear, and a damp cloth slid over her face to wipe the salt away. She idly wondered why these people were not angry with her for the tears. Men hated it when women cried, did they not? But these men seemed to take it in stride, more concerned about wasting moisture than about the crying itself.

Perhaps they did not care about the reason? She chided herself immediately, for why should they have a reason to care? 

But they did, the memory surfaced suddenly. These were the same people that had found her in an oasis. And she had sat on a horse in front of the second voice.

Then how had she gotten in that oasis? The pieces seemed to all be there, but she could not fit the memories together so that the story made sense. 

She felt how she was moved into a sitting position, leant against the side of one of the men – the first? She could not be sure. Her head was held upright by strong, callused hands. 

Here, now try this, the second voice murmured, and something hard and cool touched her mouth. The angle changed, and cool liquid flowed against her parched lips. She managed to open them just slightly, and it ran into her mouth, wonderfully fresh and invigorating. She tried to get as much as she could before it would stop, but the beaker was taken away when she had had only a small amount of water.

She swallowed to make a sound of protest, and a searing pain in her throat took hold of her. The man behind her said something she did not understand, and the other returned the beaker to her lips, allowing her only small sips.

It seemed as if new strength ran through her, sharp and fresh as new fire, and she found that it was now not so hard to command her body. Extending a great effort, she managed to make her eyes drift open.

The world was all blurred, and it would not focus no matter how she tried. She could just make out a shape sitting slightly toward her left, and something dark moved towards her face that might be the beaker, but that was all she could discern. 

More water. She drank it gratefully. Then the cup was taken away and a dark shadow flew to her face, and she started back, unsure what it was. But the hand behind her head held her in place, and a moment later cool drops of water fell on her eyelids. She blinked.

The salt that had been left by her tears stung, but more drops fell, and slowly her vision began to clear. She found herself staring into the face that belonged to the second speaker. It was new, and yet also familiar and she knew she had looked at it before, found it beautiful then too.   
It was hard and graceful, cheekbones high, brows arched just right, with blue-black tattoages adorning, not marring it. Solemn, but beautiful as a running horse could be, or a snake – seen from a distance – or a weapon, or a single penstroke. 

When she came to herself, she found his eyes watching her, and they were not stern, though she knew they had once been, could be again. But now they contained a gentle, singular concern that might have stolen her breath had she been more herself.

She blinked, knowing that if swallowing hurt like it did; speaking was out of the question.

How are you feeling?

The question seemed so absurd that she would have laughed, but it came out no more than a rush of breath, the shadow of a chuckle. Then she found that when they had moved her, her hands had ended up close together. She feebly closed her hands and turned her wrists in opposite directions. The man look at the gesture, his face puzzled. She did it again.

You feel wrung out? he guessed eventually, and she blinked to confirm this. To her surprise, both men burst into laughter, the man behind her reverberating with the force of it.

But it was the man in front of her that kept her attention, with all graveness gone from his features and eyes sparkling with amusement. If she had been less parched and exhausted, she might have blushed at having those warm eyes focussed on her.   
  
Yes, wrung out seems to be about right, don't you think, Ardeth? the man behind her said, and the name held something familiar. 

The man in front of her – the one called Ardeth – smiled, and looked into the cup he was still holding.

That was enough water for now. We had best let her sleep a while, he said to the man behind her, and Ester, her thirst not nearly quenched, clutched feebly at his robes, desperate for more water. 

Ardeth looked down on her, smile fading but not disappearing, and gently unfolded her hands to make her let go of his robes.   
I know you wish for more, but I fear your stomach will upset if you drink more now. I will return in a short while. Now you must sleep, yes?

That was not a question but a command, and there was nothing she could do to change his mind, so she closed her eyes and waited until they had lain her down again. When the men were gone, it took but a moment to sink into sleep.

* * *

  
True to his word, Ardeth did indeed return to let her drink, but he did not raise her to sit against him, using a thick pillow instead. She wondered about that, but found on closer observation that he was wounded.   
Not very badly, but enough to make him favour his left side, render his pallor just slightly paler than it should be, and give him trouble in getting up. She suspected it was a flesh wound on his ribs, for the movement of his left arm seemed restricted. 

He spoke of inconsequential things, of the city and the things they had found within. It was not what she needed to hear, but it was comforting just to hear a kind voice when all she could do was stare at the ceiling. 

What she needed to hear were answers to all manner of questions that had come to her as she woke up. Who were these men? Were they another band of raiders, the warrior caste of a nomadic people, did they guard something? Claim the land as their own? They had attacked the raiders because She didn't now that either. They had gained a lot of horses, valuable in the desert, and all the treasures the raiders had assembled over the years. Had that been their goal?

They were well-organised and better trained than the raiders she remembered, but that need not be a comfort. The tattoages indicated that these men were part of a tribe, most likely their warrior caste. Well trained and well armed, and in a lot of ways different from the Tuaregs she knew from the stables of her uncle. But that still didn't give a clue on what they intended to do with her. Nor could she find many pleasant reasons that could explain their care for her. 

What was going to happen to her now? She knew that it would take at least a few days before she'd recover from the heatstroke, and then there was the broken leg. How could she possibly travel?

But no, she had travelled before, had she not? The memory was hazy with pain, but she could recall sitting a horse. It had not been pleasant.

Now she lingered on it, _where _exactly was she? And how many days riding would it be to Luxor, to her home? Though it was not a place she felt particularly happy, she suddenly yearned for home, for the sound of her nieces playing, the thunder of hooves along the racing track, the rumbling voice of her uncle, and the upbeat conversations with Amal—

_No!_

Because Amal was dead, murdered by the raiders, and she would never be welcome in her uncles' house again. He would put the blame of the loss of his beloved son on her, the troublesome niece, and she would enjoy his tolerance no more. 

She'd have to marry, then. That was something she had long been trying to avoid, and before, her uncle had never insisted. She was useful at his livery-stable after all, and her strong spirit had reminded him of his sister. Esters' mother.

She had not wanted to marry because it somehow always looked to become a situation in which she would be in the possession of a man she did not care for, expected to bear his children and do his bidding. No more riding – her horses would be his, to do with as he pleased – and certainly no more horseracing. 

She had been nineteen when she came back to Egypt, having spent her teenaged years with her fathers' family in Spain. There had been a lot of men interested in a marriage with her – but there would be, she was a beloved niece of Umayyad Kalifah Imtiyaz and a way to gain good relations with the livery-stable that bred such coveted racing horses. 

But they had found soon that she had no intention to become to quiet, dutiful wife they wanted her to be, and the interest had waned until she found herself, at twenty-seven, with little options left. 

She could marry a relative of her uncle, thus manoeuvring herself into the position she had tried to avoid all along. She could move back to Spain, but that would require her to have her three horses shipped over, and that was very costly. Besides, her options in Spain would not be rich either. Or, and the memories resurfaced of the day she had decided this, scarcely months ago, she could look for the best in a bad situations, and marry a man who needed her. 

Sahir Taymullah was that man, and besides the fact that her expertise with the horses would be of much use in his small stable, he seemed to enjoy her company. He was a friend, not a lover, but he needed a wife – and heirs – and she was rational enough to see that he might very well be her only chance at an agreeable life in Egypt.

And so the agreement had come to be – they would marry, but her possessions remained hers alone, and she would be his equal partner. Sahir had agreed to this because he liked her, needed her – and she knew, cynism tinting the thought, that for a small stable like his, a connection to the enormous Imtiyaz stables would be greatly advantageous. 

But he was a good man. She just didn't love him, but since when had that been a requirement for marriage? And maybe she would be able to race her own horses after she married him. A win at the Spring Races would be advantageous for his stables

Some more water? a soft voice startled her from her reverie. That man again, Ardeth. She could not remember why, but she thought of him as the leader. She opened her eyes and found the room dark, lit up only by a lantern set next to her bed. It had to be well past sundown.   
The speaker stood over her, his face pale in contrast to the darkness of the surroundings. 

Por favor, she rasped, and straightaway decided not to try any more speaking for a time. Ardeth stared at her, one eyebrow raised higher than the other. Ester blinked, and tried to find what it was that puzzled him. She had not said anything out of the ordinary, had she? 

It took an embarrassing long time for her to realise she had fallen into the wrong language. All this thinking of her family had reverted her back into the language of her father. Giving the man a weak grin, she tried again.

she brought out, her throat burning. Just those few words had exhausted her, and it was a relief to relax her muscles and sink back onto the bed. 

Ardeth sat down on the edge of the bed, helped her up far enough that he could place a pillow behind her shoulders, and cradled the back of her head with his right hand. She felt his fingers dig into the thick curls, and startled to realise that her hair was uncovered. That would never do.

He had to have noticed her reaction, for he gave her something of a reassuring look. It did not do much to comfort her. 

_It is a good thing that Sahir considers me such a gain that he might overlook improprieties _she thought vaguely. _Though even he might not want me after I've travelled the desert with a group of tribal warriors. _

That brought up flashes of men looming over her, holding her roughly, groping, pressing—   
She repressed a shudder, recalling the stomach-clenching terror she had felt then. It faded reluctantly as she concentrated on the strong, gentle hand that cradled her head now. 

She felt the cup against her lips and drank deeply, wishing the water would wash away the vile memories as easily as it washed away the dryness of her lips. Ardeth did not take away the cup until she was sated, and she was grateful for it. The dull ache in her throat was beginning to lessen.

Now sleep, he said softly, his voice pitched low. I expect you will find yourself much improved come daybreak.

He drew a blanket up over her.

His face was pale and drawn even in the golden lamplight, a few days' worth of stubble on his cheeks, and she could see the fatigue in the lines around his eyes. He was holding himself well considering, but it was not hard to see how badly he needed his rest.

You should sleep too, Ester brought out, feeling greatly daring as she said it. The man gave her a grim smile, his eyes glancing over to the other side of the room.

I have to bury someone first.

* * *

– a polite 'please'. 

  


[Note february 2, 2004 - I've continued work on this story. All chapters so far have been revised slightly and re-uploaded, so some minor details have changed. You might want to reread anyway to refresh your memory? The next few chapters are lined up and my fingers are itching, so hold on for the ride...]


	15. chapter 14 : Recuperation

The Downside – chapter 14

  
(Recovery)

* * *

  
_[note: finally back on the road with this story! Am very much back into reading about the desert and desert peoples again, so hope to make some progress here.]_

* * *

  
Ester did indeed feel better in the morning, at least physically. She was strong enough to push herself into a sitting position, and could finally look about the room she was in. 

There were two beds next to the door, and she was in the far one, in the corner. Against the other wall stood five more beds, four of them occupied by tattoaged desert warriors. She observed them from underneath her lashes, unsure how they regarded her.

Two of the men were asleep, flat on their backs, their breath heavy. She wondered what type of injury they had and finally decided it would be something to do with their ribcage. The other two men had beds close together, a small table between them. On it stood a Tawla game.

One of the men was propped up on a pillow, a thick bandage high on his right arm. He was very pale. The other sat mostly upright, moving the pieces on the board to the instructions of the other man.

Ester found the sight strangely comforting. Somehow she had not thought these dour men capable of enjoying light entertainment. 

But as the man with the wounded arm looked up, there was no kindness in his face, and she was abruptly reminded that she was not wearing a higaab. It was one thing to be here while she was asleep, but quite another to be awake in the presence of these men with her hair uncovered. 

She cast her eyes down, unnerved by the coldness in the eyes of the man. To her surprise, there was a small pile of clothing on the foot-end of her bed. A pair of her own, wide riding trousers, a fancily embroidered tunic she did not recognise, and a dark blue veil with silver embroidering along the edge. There was also a comb. 

She took that first and reached back to attempt to tame her hair. Her shoulders twinged, and she did not accomplish much. The bottom part of her haar turned out to be matted beyond saving. 

_That will have to come off, _she decided detachedly. For now the higaab would do. She twisted up her hair and quickly put on the veil, adjusting it as best as she could without the pins that normally held it in place. Feeling the cold eyes of the warrior on her, she almost regretted not having a niqab – a facial veil – to hide behind. She had never worn that type of veil, finding it too confining, but right now it would have been a welcome barrier between her and the hostile world. 

_I'd even wear a boushiya at this moment  
_  
She did feel slightly better now, more composed, though it did not seem to have appeased the man. It would be nice to have a wash, and get into those clean clothes But that was, of course, out of the question. At least, it was until she could walk under her own power and find some privacy, away from these four men.

Four men.

_Four men_.

_Four_ men had _died_ because of her. Rashid, an elderly man with a gentle hand for horses and a quiet humour that had rarely failed to make her smile. Saud, the defender, the family man. His wife Ghaniyah would never forgive her for leaving their three children without father. And Malik, the stable hand, the rider that would take on the most difficult horses. 

And then Amal, beloved youngest son of her uncle; the rebel, the man that delighted in the feeling of freedom and the wind in his hair.   
Her fellow horse racer, and the one who supported her most in her own plans. There had been too much pressure on him, and Amal had loved to escape the stables for a time on one of Ester's training rides.

Only this one had killed him. 

The atmosphere in the family had been pressing of late, and the plan was innocent enough. They would take the race horses for a good ride; visit a family friend who was on an archaeology dig a few days riding into the desert, and return. It would take eight days at its longest.

It had cost little trouble to convince Uncle to let her go, but when Amal had declared he intended to go with her, that had been met with fierce protest. 

He had gone anyway, insisting to her that he needed the freedom of a while in the desert before the obligations of the family weighed on his shoulders once more. The Imtiyaz family had a high social status, and the unmarried son was expected to present himself.

So they had ridden off, Amal on her bay Amable, she herself on Khamaseen and the servants on her Uncles' horses. But if they had wandered too far South or if the dig site had been further than they thought, after five days there still was no sign of the dig site. Exhausted by the heat, they had halted next to a small oasis –

And it had all gone downhill from there. 

Tears pressed again, but she held them back. It would't have happened had she not insisted on going out into the desert, after all. Her wild plans had been paid with the lives of four men. Her stubborn insistence to go against conventions and to do her own bidding – it had its price, and that price had been paid in blood.

_If only it had been my own.  
_  
She glanced to the face of the warrior, who was still playing Tawla with his friend, and wondered if they knew. If they knew she had gotten four men killed.

Then a vague recollection came to her. 

_How did we do? _

Well enough, I suppose. Issam is dead—

I have to bury someone first.

Did that mean that at least one man – perhaps two – had died in the attack? She cringed inwardly. They would not have attacked the raiders had they not found her. Small wonder that the man with the wounded arm was regarding her with a chill that rivalled the desert night.

She lay back, unwilling to hear or see more of the outside world. The weight of her own shame and pain and guilt was large enough without seeing the accusation in the eyes of the desert warrior. 

* * *

Vibrations on the wooden floor. Booted feet walked through the room. She heard soft speaking, but listened not for the words. There was no desire in her to know what they were speaking about. It was too easy to imagine.

She opened her eyes to gaze into the upside-down face of the older man that had helped letting her drink the first time. He had kind eyes; they reminded her of Rashid. Her heart ached with remembrance. And the man smiled at her, as if that was the most normal thing in the world. She stared at the curve of his lips as if she had never seen a smile before, never would again. Perhaps she would not. Who would smile to a person such as her?

The smile faded, though it did not disappear, and the man stepped back to regard her with curiosity.

You seem different today, he declared eventually, with startling directness. do you remember your name?

Ester Imtiyaz Il Fernández, she said – almost blurted - before she could remember that perhaps it was unwise to let these warriors know from what family she was. She might end up be a hostage, though they could not know she would not be worth that much to her uncle. 

the man clapped in his hands with glee, you've remembered, then! That is most fortunate.

She watched him sharply; unable to work out why this news should please him so. Was he pleased by the hearing of her family name, widely known as one of the most successful horse-breeding families along the Nile?

But it was hard to discover malice in those friendly sparkling eyes. She cast her eyes down, suddenly remembering that it was best not to offend anyone. 

I am Fouad. Now, eat something.

She started slightly when the man put down a bowl of dried meat in sauce on her bed and put a fresh piece of coarse bread next to it. He was gone before she could think to thank him. 

Not for long though. Before she had even finished the food, he returned with two men carrying a load of wood and fabric. Fouad grinned at her – an expression that seemed far too boyish for a man who had to be in his fifties – and directed the two men with a steady stream of commands to build a makeshift screen between her bed and the rest of the room. 

_Why do they do this? _She fiddled with her food, nervously considering the reasons there might be. She was unnerved by the hostile looks she had received, but there was a measure of safety – admittedly for certain values of safety – in being in full sight of others. Behind a screen, anything could happen

When the screen was finished it was shoulder high, hiding her bed from the view of others while she was on the bed, but low enough to look over it should she stand, and to see others approach. Fouad dismissed the two men, and turned to her once more.

I thought you might be more comfortable with a measure of privacy, he informed her. Ester found herself doubting the sincerity of that motive, but thanked him politely anyway. He nodded, and left.

In a way, it _was _pleasant to be hidden from the eyes of the other wounded, she decided after some deliberation. Listening carefully for booted feet on the floor, she pulled up her trouser leg to have a look at the makeshift construction that supported her leg. Someone had apparently changed it of late, for there was a new, thick cloth around her leg, and the crude sticks had been replaced by smooth pieces of wood that might have been part of a chair. She suspected it would be easier to walk now. 

Hearing someone approach, she quickly covered her leg and sat back, awaiting the visitor with some trepidation. It turned out to be a young man she remembered faintly. He carried a bucket of water, which he put next to the bed, and a stack of folded cloth, which he offered to her with a slight bow. 

When you have refreshed yourself, my leader would speak to you. If you call me when you are ready, I will bring you to him.

She nodded. Shukran. I will

Though he looked to be younger, he reminded her very much of her cousin. The same undefeated shine in his eyes.

my name is Amar, 

She nodded quickly, the movement hiding the tears that clouded her eyes. Amal was dead. Would never mount one of her horses with that defiant grin she so loved. Would never race with her again, calling encouragements to a horse that needed none.

He had been her greatest support in leading her own life, and he was dead. Dead because she had insisted on going into the desert.

It took her a moment to realise that the man had left. She felt too exhausted to move.

_I had better wash up then, _she decided finally. _Even though it doesn't **feel** like I have any privacy behind this flimsy wall_

In the end, the prospect of being clean lured her over. Carefully exposing only bits of skin at a time, it took her some time to get clean, but when she was, she had not felt as good in a long time. The only problem now was her hair – with that done, she might actually feel human again.

Now mostly clean, she knelt down as best as she could, and – asking forgiveness for her long negligence – sank into prayer.

When she had finished her prayers she felt drained, and it was all too easy to lean back on the bed and close her eyes a short while.

  


* * *

  
She was being held when she woke. She found the sensation quite pleasant; the arms about her were warm and relaxed. She could feel the owner, pressed up against her back, breathing deeply in sleep. 

Who was it? The thought occurred only after a short while, but it did not seem urgent. She was comfortable after all, in no danger at all.

Though the arm over her ribs was getting heavier. And the hand circling her wrist did not hold tightly, but her fingers were beginning to tingle.

And she was starting to get really curious as to who it was.

She tried to turn around, but found that she could not move at all, was pinned against the bed quite firmly by the arm of the sleeper. When she pushed her free hand against the bed to give herself leverage, she collapsed back down, no strength at her disposal. Pressing down on her rising panic, she tried to turn her head, but could not, pinned against the bed by the weight of the sleeper on her hair.

She took a deep breath and tried to turn again, attempting to rock her body so that she could move, but the arms held her firmly, the dead weight of the sleeper pinning her down effectively, and she had no strength at all. She could not escape-

she whispered harshly, her breath now coming fast and shallow. The arm on her ribs felt like an impossible weight, bruising her ribs.

Release me! she said louder, shaking, panic lacing her voice. It occurred to her frantic thoughts that the man was somehow still asleep, and that if only she could wake him he would release her, but her frenzied kicks and struggles had no effect at all, she was too weak, and she really needed to be released _right now_—

She awoke from a cold, damp cloth that was held against her brow. Her eyes flew open, and she bit down a cry of fear as hands tugged on her sleeves.

YirtaH, Ester, a man loomed over her. She shied back, but he did not advance, just looked down on her. 

Hold still a moment, another voice said. She felt pressure on her whole body, a tug on her clothing, and suddenly the pressure was gone. She could move again.

The horror of the dream fading only reluctantly, and she had to force her breath to slow down. 

You are awake now, the man in front of her assured her. She recognised the smooth voice before her eyes could focus properly. The leader. Ardeth.   
That was quite a nightmare, was it not? You were tangled up in your blanket.

All she could do was nod shakily.  
  
Shall I take you outside for a time? There is a nice spot in the shade

He moved to slide his arms underneath her, but she startled back, the memory of a confining hold still too fresh. His face darkened slightly, and he withdrew his hands.

You do not wish to go outside?

She found that she did wish to go outside very much, but the very idea of being held made her panic.

C-can I walk? she managed in a small voice. His face softened a fraction.

If you think you can, you may, he said kindly, moving back to give her the room to sit up. Her head spun for a moment when she sat, and she gripped onto the edge of the bed to avoid toppling back over.

_I don't think I can walk, _she realised quite plainly, waiting for her head to clear. _But I want to go outside._

She pushed herself off against the bed and upright and quickly put a hand on the arm Ardeth offered. He was close enough to offer his support should she chose to take it, but not so close that it made her feel contained. It was comforting that he seemed to understand that.

He handed her the long staff she had used before, but she discovered quickly that she was too weak to use it to support herself properly. Almost without noticing, she ended up leaning more and more on the arm of Ardeth. He did not seem to mind, and she was comforted by the sensation of strength and stability his touch gave. It felt as if he could support her weight easily. 

She moved the staff, shifted her weight, and took a wobbly step, and then another. Her broken leg was still useless, and the knee of the good leg trembled uncontrollably. 

Still, she made progress, no matter how small. Step by step, she cleared the edge of the screen and walked into the rest of the room. Beside her, supporting her, patiently walked the leader of this strange group of warriors. That seemed so absurd that it almost made her giggle.

He gave her a sideways look, eyes sparkling with amusement, and she stepped a little closer, no longer worried when his arm went around her waist. She allowed herself to let her weight be supported by this man, the horrors of her dream already fading, and the slight curve of his lips left her unperturbed by his touch.

  


* * *

  
_Tawla – backgammon   
_  
Higaab – 'head veil' – covers hair, shoulders and throat, but not face.  
Niqab – a veil covering the face, but not the eyes. If worn, usually in combination with the higaab.  
Boushiya – a veil that covers the whole face with a sheer fabric.

(I realise this is a tad confusing, but I wanted to get this right. There are no good English descriptions for these things in any case. See for a summary with pictures.  
Thanks to the wonderful Hannan for letting me pick her brain about it.)

(Oh, and that's a nightmare I have from time to time. Wonder what it signifies..)  



	16. chapter 15 : El líder y la señorita

**

The Downside

**

_  
Chapter 15 – El líder y la señorita  
_(The leader and the lady)

  


* * *

  
It was a relief to sink down onto the rough wooden bench. The heat of day was already warming the sand, but the wall she leant against was still cool, and it shaded her seating place. It was a comfortable place to sit for a while.

But not, the thought followed quickly, with the desert warrior there too. The humour had faded from his eyes, and he looked pensive. He stared off into the distance for a moment, and then seemed to come to a conclusion. He seated himself next to her, leaving a little space between them, but not enough for her comfort. A moment ago she had not minded at all, but he seemed to change as they came outside, as if the worries and weariness of leadership had descended on his shoulders once more.

The man said nothing for a long time, just settled his sword belts comfortably and rested his head back against the wall. She watched him covertly, wondering what he was thinking about, and awaiting the questions that would surely come.

Only they did not. He settled back, relaxed his rigid posture somewhat, and simply gazed off into the distance.

After a time, still unsure why he had brought her here, she followed his example. They were sitting in front of the main building of the city, with a good view to the rising streets on the dune. Men were walking in and out of the houses, carrying things and in some cases bodies. Others were digging a grave not far off.

The warrior seemed to observe all this with cool interest. Whenever one of the working men caught his eyes, they bowed, and he would give them a slight nod. But Ester soon noticed that not all these exchanges were the same. Sometimes the bow would be terse, just barely polite, and the answer just as cool. But others bowed openly, and were greeted with a kind nod and the hint of a smile, and yet others looked to those around them first before they acknowledged their leader, apparently letting their actions depend on the men around them.

Ester observed all this with fascination, trying to get an idea of the group dynamics. Should it come to some sort of hostage situation – now they knew her family name not all that unlikely – then it would be useful to have an idea of the patterns of loyalty in the group.

the man suddenly called out. Ester looked up and noticed a group of men coming hither, leading several horses with them. 

Esters' heart bled as she got a good look at the animals. Most were at the brink of starvation, ribs showing and hipbones outlined sharply. They looked to be Berber horses, hard and steadfast, but their time with the raiders had reduced them to sad shades of horses.

Ardeth had to have heard her gasp, for he turned to her and shook his had, sadly. 

They were greedy indeed, to take so many horses they could not feed them all, he said, an undercurrent of anger lacing his voice. It endeared him to her that he seemed to see the beasts not as property, but as beings deserving of good care. 

Getting up, Ardeth inspected the horses more closely. Lifting a hoof here, checking teeth there, he acted as if he considered buying one of the beasts. Finally he turned to Ester.

Fouad tells me you are from a family of experts, so I ask your opinion. Will these horses survive a week-long journey on limited rations?

Startled that he should ask her opinion, and wondering if he would attach any value to it if she gave it, Ester narrowed her eyes and looked more closely. The horse standing nearest to her was a grey gelding, taller than was customary for a Berber horse. She could tell it must have been a grand horse one day, but now, perhaps because of its greater size, it was in a miserable condition. Its eyes stood flat and expressionless, and it paid no heed at all to the man leading it. If started on good feed and plenty of water now, it would recover, but she doubted it would survive seven days of work in its current condition. 

Behind it stood a smaller mare, a chestnut with enough life in her eyes to investigate the hands of her handler. Skinny, but not yet about to fall over, Ester deemed. She would make it, if that attitude did not leave her. 

The third horse was an elderly bay mare in abysmal condition. Ester wondered how the animal had survived this far, and could come up with no other reason than the bright alertness in the mares' eyes. This horse had not given up yet, and it broke Esters' heart to think that such a fighting spirit would have to be put down while it could be saved. _Should_ be saved but its ration would not be enough to let it recover, and it would not be able to walk the seven days to where there was more. 

The last two horses looked significantly better than the others, and she decided they had not been with the raiders very long. These were also Berber horses, but the wiry, hard sort that were bred by tribes deep into the desert. Not beautiful, no great movers, but horses that would survive longer without food or water than any other breed. 

What say you? she bit down on a gasp as the voice of the leader suddenly sounded from right next to her. She had been looking at the horses so intently that she had not heard his approach.

err— when faced with the dour warriors who held the horses, she found herself suddenly reluctant to speak her mind. Noticing this, Ardeth gestured for the men to move on. Turning back to her, he fixed a questioning stare on her that made her stumble over her words.

the grey gelding and the bay mare would not survive, she said finally, voice small under that burning stare.

Which one of them would you say has the most chance?

She considered that for a moment, tilting her head to recall the images.

I would say that the gelding will most certainly not make it, for there seemed to be no fighting spirit left to him. The mare, however, might make it if she had a few days of recovery.

Ardeth shook his head, the stare softening with sadness.

A few days she will have, but we have precious little food for the horses as it is. I fear that her share will be unable to sustain her.

_And that is the end of her, _Ester knew. They could not afford to waste food on a horse that would not survive in the end, and an older mare was not worth it to put other horses on a smaller ration, no matter how strong and full of life her eyes were. She would die so that other horses had more chance.

The man was still watching her, eyes sharp and inquisitive, and she realised that this had been a test, a way to find out about her without asking questions directly. He turned away suddenly and sat down next to her, moved his shoulders a few times to settle his bandoliers and belt comfortably, and resumed observing the activities. 

You ask me not for her life, he said after a long silence. He sounded mildly surprised.

I know not to ask for what cannot be given, Ester answered, measuring her words carefully. He nodded to himself, but said nothing for a while.

Imtiyaz, Fouad said? he began suddenly. Nassar would be interested in speaking with you. The horses of your family are known even to the desert folk.

She smiled a little, unsure what to answer to that.  
We have dealings with some of the nearer tribes, though our horses cannot rival theirs for endurance in the desert. Of late, Uncle is interested in breeding for the Spring Races.

Is the grey stallion bred to be a sprinter? I was curious for his bloodlines, though if this is a family secret I'll not press you for an answer, he said. The dry delivery of the words was belied by the humour in his eyes. 

"My father found.... He is Spanish you see, we lived in Spain for years... He found out that a crossbred of Arabian horses and the lighter horses from Andalucia gave a larger horse with great power of acceleration."

"....and your grey horse is once such?"

"Nay, the bay Amable is such a crossbred. Khamaseen is his son, an experiment."

"How so?" he asked, and he seemed so genuinely interested that she warmed up to telling about her horses.

"We tried to crossbreed back with a Berber mare, but the foal inherited the testy character of his dams' sire. You have noticed that the grey horse is somewhat... instable?"

"Indeed we have! Amar most likely has a few things to say about that horse." He smiled with some memory. "It is your own, then?"

Reserves crumbling at the sight of that rare smile, she answered more easily than she might otherwise have done.   
"So he is. Khamaseen is perhaps overly sensitive, for loud voices and hard hands upset and anger him. He was to be shot after he almost killed my uncle's best rider, but I claimed him instead."

"Why?"

She shrugged, as unable to voice her reasons now as she had then.

"It is not as romantic as it sounds. A more difficult horse I never hope to meet. But it seemed rather a waste to end a whole life before it had a second chance. And foul-tempered, irascible and aggressive though he may be, the horse does have a saving grace..."

She paused to form her words. It had been a while since she had spoken this much. 

Should I ever manage to make him focus on one thing for more than ten seconds, he might just turn out to be the fastest sprinter I've ever seen.

Ah, it would be interesting to witness that, he conceded with a smile. Ester suddenly felt very warm. Looking away in sudden shyness, she remembered what she had meant to ask him. 

I errr she suddenly wondered how to phrase this request. He looked at her with slightly raised eyebrows, indicating for her to continue. I wondered if you could lend me a knife he voice trailed off, diminishing at the dark shadow in his eyes.

What do you need it for? Ardeth sounded a little wary, and she wondered if he expected her to attack someone. Has anyone bothered you?

Her eyes widened in shock, and she shook her head.  
No no, it's not that, she denied quickly, It is just that my hair it is matted, you see. I wanted to cut out the bad parts

Ah, I see, he said, relaxing again. He reached back and pulled a small blade from the back of his belt. She reached out to receive it when he said:

Would you like me to help with that?

Before she could politely refuse that offer, she realised that she couldn't possibly reach her hands back far enough to do a half-decent haircut. And he had already said that the women of his tribe did not go veiled as her own people did. 

If you would, please, she brought out. Unsure of how to proceed, she fumbled with her higaab. Ardeth came to sit a little closer beside her, and when she lowered the veil from her hair, she turned her back to him. Before she could undo the thick bun she had wound her hair into, he unravelled it with deft fingers. 

Ah yes, this is beyond saving indeed, she heard him murmur. The feeling of hands in her hair was familiar; her niece had often braided it for her. But the idea of this man touching it was not as worrying as she had thought it would be, and he was very gentle. 

She felt him cut off a few strands, and when they fell to the ground they were almost two handlengths long. It was hard to imagine what her hair would be like now. She had worn it waist-long ever since she was a girl.

Ardeth dropped another handful of matted hair, and she felt him finger-combing through her much shorter hair. Her head felt lighter somehow, and she was very comfortable that moment. Her leg hurt, and she was still very tired, but the feeling of her hair being tended to brought up memories of her mother, and of a shaded place in front of her fathers' house in Andalucia. Safe. Taken care of. 

There, much better, the man said softly, and Ester came to herself with something of embarrassment. It was hardly like herself to wander down the paths of memory quite so far.

My thanks, she said, twisting the much shorter hair in a bun and putting her veil back in place. Ardeth smiled, but before he had the chance to answer, his eyes slid away to a point behind her, and he made a come-hither gesture to whoever stood there.

  


* * *

  


Yes, cut-off point. A 5000-word chapter seemed a bit much, so I hacked it into 2 bits. Thank Kenneth and Julie Slavin for their fantastic book 'The Tuareg' on which much of my ideas about the Medjai are based, and Amr Diab and Abdul Majeed for the music. Next chapter here soon, promise!   



	17. chapter 16 : Reconocer

**

The Downside  


**  
_chapter 16 – Reconocer  
(remembering)  
_

* * *

"Ah! Here, we have something special," Ardeth proclaimed, pleasure and pride in his voice. The comfortable feeling fading, Ester turned to see the horse he was speaking of. 

Three men were needed to contain the animal, and they managed just barely. The otherwise so calm and amiable stallion had turned into a fury of kicks and bites. As they watched, he reared up high and lashed out at his handlers with his front feet, missing one of them just barely and hitting another in the shoulder. The man fell to the side, cursing loudly.  
What had caused the horse to resist humans so? What had the raiders done to this most prized horse for it to refuse to be led? 

"…Amable…" she whispered forlornly as the stallion was led nearer. Her heart ached to see him so, this proud beast. The muscles in its hind legs bunched to cords as it once again rose up into the air, nearly lifting a handler along.  
She became aware of a sharp gaze being fixed on her, and was unnerved to find out that once again it was the leader. What he hoped to find out by showing her her horse, she could not think of. 

Then again, did he know this was her own horse, not one of her uncles', but her very own? And what would his reaction be if he found out? Would he then decide that he could obtain the horse, more easily than he could have gotten it from her uncle? Men could do strange things when faced with something desirable, and for all its rage now, this exquisite horse was desirable. She had found the man to be kind this morning, but her memory supplied that he could be cold and stern if the mood took him. She still had little idea of his motives. 

Unable to face this any longer, she raised her voice, hoping to get through to the horse. 

"lleve a cabo su cólera, mi amigo, lleve a cabo su cólera..." 

Still rearing, the horse shook its head hard and dropped back to all fours. Before the remaining handler could recover, he was bitten in the shoulder. Now loose, the horse started to move away, and she called to it again. 

"Amable, Amable, sosegar. Shush, mi amigo..." 

Something in her voice seemed to get through to the animal, and it clawed uncertainly at the sand. Never had she seen the great horse so insecure, so ready to strike out at any and all that seemed threatening. She had always known that its amiable nature stemmed from an absolute, arrogant and unchallenged belief that it was on top of every rank order there was. It was what gave the horse its splendour, and once she had established that he was above all _excepting her _she had never had problems with the stallion. 

"Venido aquí, Amable," she said gently, one hand outstretched to the great horse. Snorting uncertainly, it stretched its neck in her direction, and seemed to find something familiar there. 

She only noticed that the leader of the warriors was still sitting next to her when he moved.  
"Please stay still," she pleaded, her voice a whisper, never taking her eyes of the horse. If it construed the man as a threat, the attack would be immediate, and probably deadly. Sitting on the bench against the wall as they were, there would be no escape from the hard hooves. In her peripheral vision, she saw the man nod. 

Her eyes fixed on the horse, she kept talking. Spanish, the language most closely connected to this horse in her heart, and it came easily, speaking of the lands of its birth. She held no illusion that the horse understood any of this, but she had done the same, more than ten years ago now, one day when a frightened bay colt had attempted to break through its stable walls to get back to its mother. As they had then, the low words seemed to entrance the horse now, and it approached ever so slowly, warily. 

"Mi amigo, mi amigo," she repeated, over and over, the tone low and gentle. There were welts all over the horses' fine coat, and there was an abrasion at the side of its nose. Small wonder it was at the brink of panic, seeing danger everywhere. 

The horse approached, seeming to find something familiar, something it trusted in the tone of her voice. Quite close now, it stretched its long neck until it could sniff her outstretched hand. Apparently satisfied with what it smelt, it came closer to sniff her higaab. 

"That's it, mi amigo. You remember me," she whispered, relieved that it had calmed down. 

"It seems that he does indeed," Ardeth spoke suddenly. "This is the horse you call Amable, then? The sire of the grey? " 

"Yes he is," she said, reaching up to stroke the horses' ears. "My mother left him to me when she passed away..." 

It was silent for a long moment.  
"A worthy gift," the man said finally. He did not seem at all surprised by a woman owning such a costly horse, and she wondered if such was normal with his people. She really did not know anything about his tribe and his customs. Would he be willing to speak of it? She didn't exactly feel ready to tell him about her own life yet. 

Silence again. Attention turned toward her horse, Ester did not find it uncomfortable. The stallion lowered his head in relaxation, as if it winded down for the first time since she had last seen it. 

"You seem not surprised that I own him…" she said finally, curiosity winning out over reserve. 

"In my tribe it is common for a woman to inherit from her mother, and she retains her property when she marries." 

Ester looked at him in surprise. 

"Truly? I had not thought that the tribes of the inner desert were so different from the ones my family has dealings with. Does it not give trouble among your wives?" 

"The women of our tribe are strong-willed and indispensable for maintaining our way of life. Few men take more than one wife." 

There was something in the tone of his answer that made her aware that asking him these questions was perhaps not proper. To mask her confusion she turned her attention back to the horse, trailing her hand along his nose. He came forward a little more and nudged her gently, as if wondering why she just sat there and would not get up to groom him. When that got little reaction, it started checking along her sides, in case there were any pockets containing tasty morsels. 

"Enough!" she laughed, pushing him away when he got less than gentle. "I have nothing for you, and you are a rude, rude, rude horse!" 

Ardeth gestured for one of his men to lead the horse away. 

"Would it be a good idea to put him together with your grey horse?" 

Ester nodded as an elderly warrior approached and took the horses' halter with calm hands. Trailing a hand over his neck, she sighed and clacked her tongue. 

"Go on, be good, saHibi…" 

She watched the disappearing horse wistfully, sharply reminded of her own immobile state. Riding a horse to her had always meant freedom; the kind that was rare as daughter in a large family like her mothers'. There had always been watchful eyes guarding her, and though Amal had often gone riding with her to do just that, the thrill of riding had taken away her irritation with the constant supervision. 

There was no supervision now. Should she return to her family safely, she could claim all she want that the desert men had saved her and tended to her wounds – none would believe she still held her virtue after this. 

It was a strange realisation that this worried her less than it should have. Sahir had every right to refuse her now, but she knew that he probably would not, even though she might bring more scandal than status to his house now. Perhaps he'd hope to gain favour by relieving the Imtiyaz family of its most troublesome daughter. The thought made her chuckle wryly. 

"What amuses you?" 

She glanced at him, a little startled by his question, but he seemed genuinely interested. 

"I… At the Spring Races I was to be betrothed…" the mirth left her acutely at the thought of how the situation would unfold. "It would seem that after this… adventure… things might not go as planned." 

"I am sorry to hear that. Do you care greatly for the match?" 

She shrugged, wincing immediately as her sore shoulders protested.  
"He is a good man." 

"Surely a lady such as yourself, not to mention with the status of your family, could find a great man?" he remarked after a long moment. 

She cast her eyes down, unsure about the direction this conversation was taking.  
"The great men by my uncle's definition did not seek a wife, they sought an… an… ornament to sit inside and bear them sons. The position did not appeal to me then, and it does not now. I think I prefer to settle for a merely _good_ man who wants me as a partner." 

"But you love him not?" 

"I was not aware that love is required for marriage, my Lord," she retorted, suddenly wondering if he was sizing her up as a possible partner. Was he married himself? She could not remember if he had told her that. And even if he was, would a leader not be one of those few men who did take more than one wife? 

A cold shiver ran down her spine at that thought, and she stiffened, suddenly inexplicably repulsed by the idea of the man, any man, touching her. She remembered thinking he was attractive, and he had been kind to her, but the touches had seemed detached, warm but not more than that. The thought they were made by someone who might want more of her, unsettled Ester. Flashes of memory full of robed men and violence shook her, and she cringed at the thought of being touched at all. 

"Not required, no. But I do feel it is better for a tribe if marriage is based upon love. It forges stronger families, happier relationships, and thriving children. Would you not agree?" 

Ester barely heard him, too pre-occupied with her own inner turmoil. It wasn't a reasonable thought and on some level she knew it, but she could not bring herself to trust the man now, no matter how kind he was. She leaned away from him a little, trying to create some space between them. 

"I… I'd like to go inside now, please." Her voice was very small. She did not notice the surprised and slightly taken aback look on Ardeth's face. As he reached out to take her arm to help her up, her unconscious sent powerful urges through her body, and she cringed back from his hand. Memories from the attack in the oasis resurfaced suddenly, violently, and she closed her eyes, trying to push them away. 

"Ester? What is it?" 

There was gentle concern in the voice. She opened her eyes and found the man crouched before her, face level with her own. He did not touch her, balancing on the balls of his feet. 

Making an attempt to pull together the scraps of her personality, she tried to form an answer that would make sense. 

"I'm… want to…" to her considerable distress, her eyes suddenly overflowed with tears, and her breath hitched. "Please, I ju-just want to g-go inside… I need to…" she trailed off, unable to put into words what it was that she needed, and overwhelmed by a turmoil of conflicting emotions. Pulling her arms up and against her chest, she shuddered convulsively. 

Ardeth had disappeared. Before the relief of that discovery could reach her, he returned, followed by Fouad.  
"…ah, but the secrets of women are not meant to be understood by us mere mortal men," the older man said lightly, but he fell silent when he knelt in front of Ester. She cringed back, by now far too anguished to even realise who he was. 

"It would seem best to me to bring her inside, whether she wants us to or not," the man said to Ardeth after a moment. "I had wondered if she remembered the attack in the oasis, and it seems that she does now." He got up and stepped to the side. 

"She does not want to be touched," Ardeth pointed out. 

The older man shrugged.  
"She does not want to sit here until the sun shines down on her either, I am sure." 

Ardeth tried to address her one more time.  
"Ester?" 

She sobbed without a sound, eyes staring emptily into the distance. 

"We are going to bring you inside, do you understand?" 

She cringed, hands opening and closing convulsively, and the men looked at each other. There did not seem to be a way around it. They each took an arm of the woman and lifted her to her feet. She did not scream as they might have expected, but her muscles contracted panicky, and her breath was flat and fast. Her entire skin crawled with the sensation of being touched, and she tried to resist being moved, certain they would throw her into an abyss like her memories insisted. 

But no, they were going into a building, and there were more robed men, all watching her in what seemed like shock. Were they going to take her in here, where all these men were? She struggled in earnest now, but the two men held an iron grip on her arms. She shook uncontrollably from exhaustion and fear, moved along by the strength of the two men. 

"Ester…" a soft voice said, and she blinked, the raging sands of panic clearing momentarily. The attackers hadn't known her name. And they had not used such a kind tone of voice either. Nothing made sense. 

A moment later she was lowered onto a bed. One of the men drew a cover up over her, and then they were gone. Ester stared dumbly at the rough ceiling, trying to banish out the memories and turn back to what was. 

Now that she was alone it seemed easier. She had been sitting outside, talking with… with Ardeth, with the leader. And then… she recalled the moment with terrible clarity now, the exact second that in her perception, his caring hands had changed into greedy claws, so repulsive in touch they made her skin crawl. 

She found another blanket, wadded it up tightly, and folded her arms around it. Her legs came up to curl around the bunch of fabric as best as she could. Her back was to the wall, head so that she could see anyone coming around the edge of the screen. It didn't feel safe, but it was the safest she was going to be. 

Some hours later she finally decided it wasn't safe enough to sleep. Images of the attack kept churning through her mind, corrupting memories of friendly eyes surrounded by tattoages into cold leers and sneered curses. 

Her memory was in such disarray it seemed no surprise that she was balking at shadows. Feeling the terror dissipate, Ester tried to sift the images. 

She remembered suddenly being surrounded by many robed and veiled men, but her leg was already broken then, it had to be after the attack. Other veiled faces hung above her, grasping at her robes, restraining her legs, and she recoiled from the image. She remembered fighting until her breath failed her, and the sick feeling to the stomach returned all too easily. 

There had been so many hands holding her down, groping and pawing at her. So many voices sneering and cursing, calling encouragements to each other. And just when she had thought… thought they would use her and leave her for dead, a voice had insisted that they move on, to get to shelter before the sun rose. 

And all of sudden, as if the sun had risen, the flood of veiled faces had retreated and she had seen the moon again in the night sky. She had been dragged upright, arms wretched behind her back. From the exchange that followed she remembered little, her head having been dazed by a vicious backhand across her jaw. She just recalled, with terrible clarity, the moment they had let go, that fraction of a second before she had started to fall into the darkness. It had seemed to last forever. 

Coming to herself, Ester realised she was holding on to the edge of the bed, fingers cramped as it could stop her fall. She took a deep breath and slowly unfolded them. 

It was evening by now, already nearing dark. No voices could be heard in the room, only the soft, laboured breathing of one of the wounded warriors. On the rough ceiling soft shadows played, firelight spilling in through the door. The soft murmur of voices and the sounds of people making tea and whetting weapons drifted into the room. It sounded comfortingly like the sounds in the courtyard at home, where someone always sat on the bench in the shade, chatting and smoking or oiling tack. 

The pungent scent of mint tea was on the air, and the familiarity of it made it easier to distinct between memory and reality. As she lay listening in the dark the men began to sing, sonorous voices joined in a melodious song of praise and remembrance. She could not hear the words, but the significance was clear enough, and it sounded very beautiful. When the solemn chant came to an end, someone began slowly tapping on some sort of drum, and others clapped or ticked along, and a new song was begun, this one in higher spirits. 

The men of her own family did not sing; they left that to the women, who traditionally sung and danced on festive occasions. It was strange and delightful to hear so many men raise their voice in harmony. After a time, she wondered why she held such fear for them. The voices sounded joyful now, with enthusiastic singing and cheering, and suddenly she missed her sketchbook, wanting to put this strange moment down onto paper. There were more images crowding behind her eyes, each pressing to be acknowledged. 

Booted feet quietly thudded the floor, and she startled guiltily, as if she shouldn't have been listening. For some reason she didn't really understand herself, she closed her eyes and schooled her breath, feigning sleep. The man halted some way away from her bed, pausing as if listening for a sound. When there was none, he approached further until she could feel the vibrations through the legs of the bed. She could hear him breathe, a steady in-and-out in the slowly cooling air, and wondered why he was not wearing the veil around his face as she knew these people were wont. Perhaps they had learnt that it unsettled her if she could not recognise them straight away. 

Her senses told her he was close, and it took considerable effort to remain unmoving. The man shifted, his robes rustling softly, and something was set on the floor with a clunk. The man breathed out a little sharper as if annoyed with something, and Ester sensed a movement toward her face. Before she could stop herself, her eyes were open and she shied away. 

"Ease, girl, nothing to worry about," a low voice said, and it was the older man, Fouad. His hand came closer yet, but he did not touch her, simply adjusted a corner of the blanket to cover her back better. 

"I expect it will get cold here tonight," he offered by way of explanation. She smiled weakly, thankful for his care but not completely comfortable with it. She was strangely grateful that this man had come, and not Ardeth. Though it made her feel rude and ungrateful, she did not think she could be comfortable in his presence at all. 

"I have brought you something to eat. If you arrive in our camp looking like this, we will be accused of starving you!" he smiled at her, eyes sparkling, and Ester relaxed a fraction.  
She pressed herself upright, putting the wadded up cover behind her back. The man didn't offer his help. When she was sitting, he gave her a bowl of stew and a spoon. 

"Are you well, or is there anything I could get for you?" 

"Was my sketchbook here somewhere? I should like to draw for a while..." 

She startled when he suddenly came toward her, but the man reached under the bed and produced the book. The piece of charcoal that went with it was crushed. 

"I will be back in a moment," Foad said. He checked if there was still wash water in the bucket that still stood next to the bed and disappeared. Ester wondered for a moment what he was going to do, but set to her food. There was horse-meat in it. 

After a short while Fouad returned, bearing an oil lamp and a bucket with a layer of sand in it. This could serve her as a lavatory, she understood. When he had put these things down, he offered her some carefully selected sticks of charcoal, and she thanked him profusely for his thoughtfulness. 

He just smiled, gave her a slight bow, and left. 

_Why does he bow? _She thought in bewilderment, _what have I done to gain his respect? _She did not dwell on it for long. Taking a new page in the sketchbook, she began to draw the first thing that came into her head. A raggedly folded lithan took shape on the paper, space in the middle free to draw eyes. Uncomfortable with the memory, she dwelt on the threaded edges of the coarse fabric, shading and defining the folds into far greater detail than required. Finally, when there was no more evasive work to attend to, she faced the empty spaces within the drawing and extended a trembling hand to draw the eyes. 

They had been black, and narrowed, and the chill emanating from there had told her exactly how much mercy she could expect. None. 

Ester shivered with the memory, but somehow it was not as intense as it had been that morning. With the clear, warm voices of the men still singing, full of praise and good humour, she did not relive the memories as vividly as she had done before. 

When the cold eyes were done she drew on, haphazardly filling the paper with images of robed men and dead companions. A tear slowly trailed down her cheek, but she did not notice it. Her skin crawled again as a drawing took the shape of many masked faces crowding over her, filling the sky. Pressing down, she defined the shape of a robe with a hard, black line, taking the subtlety away. Frustration mounting with the memory, she did the same for the other lines, until the drawing was filled with grotesque beings, their faces contorted and their hands overlarge and deep black. 

Hands moving without conscious thought or design now, more images took shape, of dark robes, masked faced and eyes cold as the night air. The spaces between the drawings grey smaller until they merged together, one large portrayal of memories too grim to face. Finally her hand faltered, no more images pressing behind her eyes. She closed the book and blew out the lamp. Listening for the first time for what was happening in the main room, she found to her surprise that it had grown quiet, with a few men still talking softly. In the sickbay a low murmur could be heard as two of the wounded talked for a while before they went to sleep. 

Curled up on her side, she waited until all had gone quiet, and then for the first time in too many nights, there were no evil dreams to disturb her sleep. _

* * *

_

Notes…

1. I'll have to let this chapter lie for a few days to work out if I can live with it. There's a lot of emotional stages Ester passes through here and I'm not sure if all of them ring true. If you have comments on how it's all handled, do let me know.  
2. Wow, every time I read the last few reviews to this story I just glow. They are so positive and encouraging! I was a little worried about writing for a fandom which seemed all but dead, but these few reviews say more than a hundred "this is gr8, rite more1!" comments. Not that I don't appreciate those, but I trust you know what I mean. My sincere thanks to everybody who has been so kind in their reviews.  
3. This chapters' music by 'Hijjaz' – Asmaul Husna, and Najwa Karam. This story has made me discover a whole new and fabulously interesting genre of music!  
4. Further; I admit this is Babelfish Spanish. hangs head in shame I am learning now, but my knowledge does not run far enough yet. When I know better, I will replace these sentences with proper Spanish.  
  
_"lleve a cabo su cólera, mi amigo, lleve a cabo su cólera..." - hold your wrath, my friend, hold your wrath!  
Amable – the horses' name, meaning 'friendly'  
"Amable, Amable, sosegar. Shush, mi amigo..." : "Amable, Amable, calm down. Shush, my friend."  
Venido aquí, Amable' - "Come here, Amable"_


	18. chapter 17 : Un plan y su ejecución

**The Downside**

Chapter 17 - _Un plan y su ejecución_

_(A plan and its execution)_

* * *

Ester woke up with a plan in her mind.

That had happened before, and not all of those plans had worked out well.

This time, however, she was sure she would feel infinitely better once it had been executed, and she could think of nothing that could go wrong.

Well, almost nothing.

Heartened by that thought and feeling more decisive than she had in days, Ester carefully put her feet to the ground and reached for the walking stick. Before she pushed herself up, she grabbed the sketchbook and clasped it firmly under her arm.

It was very quiet. No one seemed to be awake yet, and that was excellent as far as she was concerned. She didn't really want observers with what she was about to do.

Standing up was harder than expected, but once the vertigo had passed she did not feel too bad. Taking one wobbly step, then another, she was pleased to realise that she actually felt quite good. It felt good to take matters into her own hands once more. Though the men had done it to take care of her, being handled as if she did not have a mind of her own bothered her deeply.

She put the end of the staff down carefully to not wake any of the wounded men, and slowly proceeded toward the door opening. Tap, shuffle... tap, shuffle, until she could look into the adjourning room.

The rough wooden doors leading outside were opened slightly, allowing in some of mornings' earliest light. Inside it was still mostly dark.

Some of the men were asleep along the sides of the chamber, rolled in their robes. There were fewer than she had expected to find, but she saw an adjourning room with sleeping men that could explain that. Most of the men slept with their lithan still covering their face, weapons near.

Slowly making her way over to the dying embers of the fire, she took exquisite care not to wake anyone. _They're probably have chopped me into bits before they really opened their eyes, _she mused. _That would be really awkward. Not to mention uncomfortable..._

Shaking her head at her own strange trail of though, she navigated around the fireplace to where the kettle and the poker were.

_I should have brought a blanket, _she reflected, but that could not be helped now. Slowly lowering herself onto the floor of pressed sand, she stretched her broken leg out to the side, settling herself as comfortable as was possible under the circumstances.

There was a small pile of twigs and sticks next to the fire, and behind that a larger pile of dried horse manure, which was used to fuel the fire. It didn't smell as nice as wood when burnt, but that didn't bother her. She used the poker to turn over some coals in search of a spot where the fire still glowed, and when she found one, a few dry twigs and some fanning with the hard piece of leather intended for this purpose brought the fire to life. When flames licked the twigs, Ester turned to her sketchbook. She opened it and faced the sheet of paper with last nights' drawings. The now-familiar shiver of repulse and terror ran down her spine, making her set her jaw in determination as it passed.

The tearing of the heavy paper was louder than she had expected, and she looked around furtively, hoping she had not woken anyone. With what she was about to do, she would prefer no bystanders. Certainly not of these dour desert warriors, most of whom opposed their leaders' care for her.

Relieved that no one seemed to have woken, she turned back to the fire, putting in some more twigs. She looked again at the paper, black with charcoaled drawings, each imprinted beside and over another. These vile memories she wanted to be rid of. Would they disappear as wholly as the paper would when she burnt it? She could only hope.

With a flick of her wrist she tossed the sheet onto the reluctant fire. At first nothing happened, but after a moment the centre of the paper grew even blacker than before, and then a small flame licked through, charring the paper toward the outsides.

It only took a moment before the edges began to curl, and then were obliterated in turn. Nothing was left aside from a few wisps of charcoal.

Ester leant forward to put some pieces of dried dung onto the fire, encouraging it to grow. As she came upright again, a blanket was suddenly dropped onto her shoulders. She jumped in shock, the movement making the cover slide off her again. Behind her was a man swathed in the thick outer robes of the desert men. His lithan was drawn up until just underneath his eyes.

"I apologise if I alarmed you," he said in a low voice, and she knew she had not met him before. "It seemed to me you must be cold, sitting on the floor."

Too surprised by this unexpected concern to even form an answer, she thanked him quietly, and the man turned on his heel and disappeared into another room.

How long had he stood there? Had he seen what she threw onto the fire? And if he had, did he care?

Looking toward the half-opened doors she suddenly found another man in the shadows there, and this one by posture and movement she recognised as Ardeth.

She watched him over her shoulder, unsure how to react. She no longer felt threatened by his presence, only uncomfortable. But she wondered how long he had stood there, and what he had seen. Ester ducked her head in shy acknowledgement.

"I apologise if I woke you..."

He picked up a sloshing waterskin and skirted the fireplace in his confident, sauntering walk, keeping his distance from where she sat. He kneeled down easily, settling his sword and belts on the way down.

"I was outside, it was my watch."

"Oh."

Ester looked down, feeling as if he preferred her to say nothing. She watched from below her lashes as he stoked the fire up higher and put up a kettle to heat tea water. After a moment, she reached back to pull the blanket back over her shoulders. The other man had been right. She _was _cold.

"You seem to feel better today," he began, making it sound like a question. He glanced up at her, and in his eyes she detected some emotion she could not quite define. "Calmer."

"I-I am sorry...." she began, remembering with shame how kind he had been, and how ungrateful it was to act as if he was the same as her attackers had been.

"...for... what happened. I was..."

"Don't speak of it," he cut her off. There was a tight tone to his voice she did not quite understand, but it was clear that he did not wish her to speak of the matter. She cast down her eyes again, uncertain what to do or say. She did not seem to be able to handle herself properly where it concerned him.

He calmly prepared things for making mint tea, and she idly wondered what was on his mind. Was he thinking of a way to breach the mile-wide gap between them now? Or did he think of his men and his watch, unconcerned about the woman he had promised to keep safe?

"How fares your leg?" the man asked suddenly. Ester startled.

"Ehm, yes, eh... it seems to getting better," she stammered. "it does not hurt as much now."

"Excellent," Ardeth replied. "'It seems it is time to move on. This place does not have enough grazing to sustain all the horses. I intend to depart tomorrow night."

Ester shivered. The cold she felt was not only physical. Yesterday she had wished for him to be as cool and detached as he was now, but suddenly she missed the warm voice that had comforted her before. Unsure what to say, she just nodded numbly. Departure meant getting away from the privacy of the chamber screen. It had not seemed so important until she was about to be without again.

"Who will you ride with?"

The question took her by surprise, as did the intent look Ardeth fixed her with. Why did he let her decide? She was suddenly very certain that offending him further would not improve her situation.

"W-with you, please," she answered in a small voice.

The man just nodded

They sat in silence for a time until the water boiled and he added mint leaves and sugar. After pouring the tea from several feet high to aerate it, he offered her a cup. She accepted it gratefully, savouring the taste of home. The familiarity of it boosted her confidence.

"How long is the ride, my Lord?"

"We will travel at night, in good speed. Barring unforeseen problems, it should take seven days to reach our camp."

He spooned a bowl full of stew with large chunks of meat, and handed it to her.

"It is not warm, I am afraid, but you should eat. It will be a draining ride."

There was a hint of warmth in his voice, and she smiled uncertainly as she stirred the stew. The meat was horsemeat, but that didn't bother her. At home they had eaten that from time to time. The idea of being brought into the camp of these men worried her. How would her reception be? For these true desert dwellers the way she had become stranded would surely seem ridiculous. She would look exactly the part of the spoilt daughter of a rich family, fled into the desert in a fit of bad temper.

It was not hard to picture herself surrounded by tribeswomen commenting on her lack of skill in the desert, gauntly thin stature, and old maid status. The idea was not appealing. These warriors were practical; only concerned with survival. Women tended to be far more petty, it was her experience.

Certainly some of the relatives who visited her family on a regular basis seemed to excel in subtle but grating comments on her 'situation' as they liked to call it.

Around them the men slowly came to full consciousness. Ester ate her stew and drank tea, uncertain about speaking in front of the warriors. She had grown used to Ardeth, even though the thought of being touched was uncomfortable; but she trusted him to a certain extend. And he had confided in her, she remembered. Though if he would have done that had the both of them been healthy and fully aware, she doubted.

"What will happen to me then?" she asked finally, trying to keep sight of an approaching warrior without being too obvious about it. He ignored her thought, and poured himself tea.

Ardeth shrugged; apparently he had not thought that far ahead yet.

"After you have recovered from the ride I will send an escort to deliver you to your family."

Ah, yes. Now she remembered why she hadn't wanted to think this far ahead. She could just picture being brought back by some desert warriors glad to deliver her, and being sent back with them.

_A right situation I have helped myself in... _

_But after... Amal... _

The thought ran no further. Her cousin, dear beloved cousin, was dead.

She looked down on the closed sketchbook in her hands, clasping it firmly while she fought back tears. _No more of that_, the grim thought came. _No more being weak. You made your bed, as umm used to say, and now you have to sleep in it._

"Perhaps you ought to return to your bed, to rest some more," Ardeth said in a voice that recommended but not commanded. She glanced up, cursing her tear-brimmed eyes.

He held out one hand to help her up, the other one offering her the walking staff. Ester blinked, surprised that he should offer her the choice instead of bodily handling her. Wherever it came from, she was grateful, and accepted the staff while her other hand grasped his forearm. His eyes softened a fraction, and he picked up the sketchbook so that she could get up without it falling to the floor.

Coming to a stand turned out to be far more difficult than it had been earlier that morning, and Ardeth held her elbow while she sorted out which way was up and which was down. The touch was impersonal and she was too busy with standing to feel bothered by it, but an involuntary shudder crawled up her spine. His eyes darkened a fraction, and as soon as she steadied he let go, offering his arm for support without touching her.

The bed seemed a lot further away than it had been when she had ventured into the main room, and she accepted the support before she was halfway. Ardeth helped her onto the bed, but stiffly, and he left her as soon as he had ascertained that she was comfortable.

Confused and unnerved she settled herself as comfortably as possible, her back to the wall. What was wrong? Had she offended him somehow?

Tired as she was from the few metres she had walked, sleep was reluctant to take her, and she hugged the rolled-up blanket tightly as she tried to think.

Her father, brother and uncle were all proud, sometimes stern men, but she had never had to wonder what it was that displeased them – they were used to speaking their mind. It was how one kept the atmosphere halfway liveable in a house with more than twenty relatives; problems were always brought out into the open, usually over mint tea, and dealt with.

Evidently, Ardeth did not support this theory, and she was at a loss as to how to deal with this stern, taciturn man. She had been pleased that the sickening repulse of the previous day had left her, perhaps burnt with the paper. He, however, seemed if possible even more distant, colder.

It felt as if her one ally had turned away and the ranks had closed, leaving her alone – so very alone – amidst all these men.

Suddenly exhausted and awash with conflicting and confusing emotions, Ester had a quiet cry and then finally fell asleep, not to wake up until it was far into the night.

* * *

Umm - mother

Well! I've firmly stuck my muses onto this one and hope to get some work done here. Feels funny to be back with it! I really hope there are some readers left who can give me some much-needed encouragement in finishing this blasted story. 4 years running really IS a bit much!


	19. chapter 18 : Preparación

The Downside 

chapter 18 - Preparación

(Preparation)

It was the sensation of being watched that woke her, a feeling that made her scalp tingle somehow. Not opening her eyes, she listened.

Someone stood a few paces away, judging from the soft, steady breathing. Resisting the urge to open her eyes, she moved her head a little, hiding her tearstained face behind her arm. Whoever it was didn't need to see evidence of her weak moments.

Not that there seemed to be any other kind of moments of late.

The watcher breathed out heavily, and she heard booted feet thud away quietly, leaving her alone once again.

+

Fouad came early the next morning to encourage her to walk for a short while. Supported by his steady arm she heard for the first time about whom these people were and what to expect once she was brought into their camp. The warrior, his aging face battered by sun and sand, grinned widely as he told her some anecdote of his first granddaughter.

He led her to the horse pens, talking animatedly all the way so she could focus on pain nor discomfort with his proximity. If she considered it, that last was not a problem with this man; he had told her that his beloved wife had died some years ago, and that she awaited him in the afterlife.

He had no interest in her except to help her recover as quickly as possible, and that set her at ease. Perhaps she did have an ally after all.

When they arrived at the pens, it was easy to see that at least half of the horses they had acquired were gone. The horses of the Med-jai, as she now knew them, stood in a separate pen. They were calm as she would have expected from experienced warhorses in the desert – unwilling to spill energy. They stood next to each other, head to tail, and thirty tails swished lazily as they kept the flies of each others' heads.

Her own grey mount could not claim that sense. While its bay sire stood at ease, Khamaseen clawed at the sand, issuing an angry scream in the direction of Ardeth's horse. From the hollows in the sand it was easy to tell the horse had been at this for some time, and he didn't look likely to give up soon either. Fouad led her to the fence.

"Khamaseen! You great oaf, have you no horse-sense?" she called to it. From the corner of her eye she saw Fouad blink, perhaps surprised by the ring of command in her voice. The horse left off its digging and agitatedly turned toward the man and the woman.

"What bothers it so?" the warrior asked. "We have tried to make it at ease." They could clearly see that the outline of a ribcage was starting to show under the fine grey coat.

"Lack of sense," Ester shrugged, wincing as her still painful shoulders stabbed with pain. "Never had all his goats inside his corral, this one."

She reached out and gently cradled the large head between her hands. The stallion skittered a little, but finally settled and allowed her to still him. She spoke words of comfort under her breath, over and over, until the head grew heavier in her hands. She smiled, caressing the grey ears, and silently stepped back. The horse raised its head as if startled, but lowered it again, tail swishing lazily now.

Fouad said nothing as he slowly led her back into the building. None of the men around the fire even looked up, and in a way that was comforting.

Once back in bed she found it easy to block out the sounds of the warming day, and her limbs were heavy after the exercise of walking, and she slept deep and without dreams.

Ester awoke from a short puff of air in her face, and as she opened her eyes a dark shape moved to stand upright. Ardeth, she recognised after the first disorientated seconds. His face was neutral, his leader-expression.

"I let you sleep for as long as possible," he said quietly. His voice was very low. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up, quickly adjusting her higaab. The air was warm and dull, but a low beam of sunlight entered through the doorway of the sickroom.The sun was well past its zenith, and preparations for the departure were underway.

Ester slowly swung her legs over the edge of the cot and accepted the staff that was offered to her. Ardeth placed a hand under her other arm, and with a grimace she was on her feet.

"We will ride my Athir for a few hours, and since we have enough spare horses now, switch to another halfway the ride so that my horse may rest," Ardeth said. She nodded in acknowledgement.

"I considered your bay Amable, but he has a wound on his withers, and he would not suffer us to saddle him in any event."

She grimaced. "He will calm down, I expect, but I shouldn't think the…" she sought for the right word, and settled for a weak gesture to the buildings the raiders had occupied, "treated him very well."

The warrior on her side nodded.  
"As to your grey horse, well…" his eyes gleamed suddenly, and she could not help but smile along, "that did not seem the safest option either.'

They went outside, and Ardeth adjusted his lithan against the dust in the air. All the Medjai horses were standing calmly tethered to one side while men saddled, packed and strapped gear to their saddles. An abundance of black tassels kept the flies off their faces and flank. Two men went down the line with water so that the mounts could drink.

The dust was kicked up by the newly acquired horses, some of which were being packed with bundles of dried meat, bladders of water and the few pieces of looted treasure that the Medjai considered worth the effort of taking along. Not including her own two, there were seventeen of them; a valuable addition in the desert. She recognised the four horses that her uncle's servants had ridden, but said nothing. Now he seemed to be in a warmer mood she did not want to bring up possible difficult subjects.

"Leave the strongest four unburdened," Ardeth instructed. "All those who ride double will switch during the night, perhaps more than once."

That meant that three of the wounded warriors could not ride alone. Ester was unsure if that meant the other two had recovered – or died. She tried not to dwell upon it.

Two men were busy with a pile of tack, attempting to match up horses with their tack, or at least find them saddles that fit. Ardeth steered her toward them, and they sat down to watch the men work.

"Be kind to Arif here, and point out the saddles for your own horses, if you please," Ardeth said softly.

She wasn't sure if he meant her to speak to the young man, but she pointed to a stack of simple, well-made saddles and named them off in a soft voice.  
"The top one for my grey, the one below that…" she hesitated, but the man gave her an expectant look and she pushed on, "for the dun gelding over there, the one with the red tassels goes with the bay stallion, the next one is for that dappled grey there… " She trailed off as both the men stared at her.

"The servants that were with us did not walk…" she said in a small voice. After a long moment Ardeth shrugged, and gestured for her to continue.

"…the chestnut with the thin blaze wears the next saddle, and that last is for the grey gelding with the ragged mane."

They watched as the horses she had indicated were saddled save for Amable, who snapped at the man when he neared, and clawed at the ground. Arif packed the saddle on top of that of Khamaseen instead, patiently walking along to fasten the straps while the grey horse paced and turned, unable to stand still.  
Ester was surprised to find that neither Arif nor his helper ignored her as studiously as she remembered from before her memory had returned to her. She did not have to glance at Ardeth's stern face to know he still considered her a burden, but they seemed to recognise her attempts to make matters easier.

The leader rose and stalked off without a word to supervise something she could not see, and Ester observed the busy warriors as unobtrusively as she could.

There did not seem to be any ranks below Ardeth, but small groups of younger men looked to an experienced elder warrior for guidance in what had to be done. That this did not always go without problems proved the quiet, stern talking-to that one of the younger men received, though she could not work out exactly what he had done to deserve it.

Aside from that small matter the men seemed to work smoothly together, talking and laughing and clearly pleased to set out for camp and family. She tried to imagine what those families would be like, but there her imagination could not settle on one version. Would it be the patriarchal system she knew from some of the Bedouins? Or would their tribe be more alike the proud Tuareg, where women held status and possessions independently from men? Yet they did not have the dark colouring she associated with the Tuareg. The men seemed to be as mercurial as the desert; then friendly and full of warm humour, then stern and cold as the desert night.

It was possible that the life they led made them so, and that their women would be different, she mused. But what kind of life was that? She knew she had been told just enough to comfort her about her safety; what these men really did this far into the desert she found hard to imagine. Apparently they had already been there - patrolling - before they found out about the raiders. Did they guard something? There were many ancient structures hidden deep in the desert, and the tattoages of the men seemed to indicate that they had some sort of connection to the ancient times, but what that would be she could not imagine. Showing curiosity about something they obviously kept hidden did not seem the most preservative course of action, she thought with amusement.

Before her eyes the company assembled. Horses watered, saddled and packed, men armed and swathed in their heavy outer robes. Their masked faces, only the eyes visible from behind the artfully folded lithans, still frightened her at times. She had been comforted by the familiar faces of Fouad and Rafid and Ardeth; now that everyone had the same, uniformly masked appearance she cast her eyes down when someone looked at her, unsure of their identities and afraid to draw their attention or cause offence.

On of the men suddenly appeared next to her and Ester suppressed a wince. He was tall and had sword-hardened hands; one of the experienced warriors. She thought his eyes were an unusual light brown and smiled in relief when she found this was Ardeth.  
He extended an arm to help her up and she accepted his support as he silently led her away toward his horse.

"Ah, you are already here, that is well." said a familiar voice suddenly from behind her. Ester startled, and the masked warrior by he side grabbed hold of her upper arm just in time to keep her upright. "Abdul-Rahim, if all the wounded are ahorse you may give the command to mount."

The man ascertained that she stood steady before he silently left.

Ester cast her eyes down in confusion, ashamed for her unobservant mistake. Not that Ardeth seemed to have noticed; he gestured another man closer and helped her onto his horse. Moments later he was behind her, settling a heavy cloak around her and then his right arm.

It made her nervous for no clear reason, and she steeled herself for the long ride in close proximity. It wasn't proper to be touched by a man in such a way, it had been hammered in to her from a young age. It was indecent, and a man could not be expected to maintain selfcontrol in such a circumstance.

She had observed Ardeth to be a man of great selfcontrol, but the lessons of her youth were deeply ingrained, and she was loath to test it.

The man behind her did not seem aware of her inner turmoil at all, calmly steering then horse with his right hand and directing the men and horses into an orderly group.

This turned out to be easier said than done, for the men leading a spare mount had to exchange several times before everyone had a riding horse and a handhorse that did not start an all-out war. One broke lose, a mare with the ears pinned back, sour with the presence of so many stallions around her.

Ardeth guided Athir toward her, but before he could take her by the reins the mare squealed and lashed out with her front legs. The stallion had a healthy respect for mares and dodged the hooves, and Ester felt Ardeth ready himself to jump off before the mare could do damage. She took over the reins and steered the horse sideways, reaching out to give the mare a sharp rap on the nose. As she had hoped, the mare shied back instead of turning to kick with her hind legs.

It was the moment Ardeth needed to jump off and get hold the headcollar. The men cheered, appreciating a good show, and the mare was gently berated and returned to her handler.

Ester smiled behind her veil. She wasn't sure how she had imagined the mare would be handled, but this amused chiding wasn't it. She had seen they valued their horses, and now she was shown once again that they were more than valuable goods to them

"That was well done," he said when he'd mounted. She smiled again, though he couldn't see that.

The group started moving, and most of the horses settled quickly. Ester sighed when she saw that of course Khamaseen wasn't one of them.

"Has he always been that way?" Ardeth asked in a low tone. She startled, thoughts having drifted away home.

"Yes, always. A strange breeding mistake, it seems. Fast, but not sensible."

"But you ride him?"

"When I feel Allah looks upon me kindly that day."

He chuckled, and they watched as the grey horse bounced along, prancing and snorting as if waiting to start a race.

"So… how _do_ you ride him? Without…causing explosions?"

She was surprised he'd ask her. Most men would rather be thrown than admit that another might know what they did not.

"Very… carefully."

He chuckled.

"I have always thought him overly sensitive. Pull the reins, and he will be quick to take offence. Shift your weight, and he turns. In fact, _consider_ shifting your weight and he turns. Yell, and he will seem deaf, yet when you whisper he will heed you."

She considered that a moment, and then added:  
"…or at least, he might."

They did not speak for the remainder of the march, but the short conversation had put her at ease more than any kind of direct reassurance could have. The night passed in a haze somewhere between pain and half-sleep. At one point she thought the men were singing, low and sonorous. She was held close against the man behind her, but her half-dreaming mind, soothed by the rhythms and scents of night time riding, found it no cause for alarm.

* * *

Hah! Back on track with this one. Finish is in sight and I have found some active readers, so I'm pleased… 

Cheers,  
Arwen


	20. chapter 19 : Corriente

The Downside

Chapter 19 - _Corriente_

(Accepted)

There were three days and nights of hard riding that she chose not to remember too closely. During the hottest hours of the day they tried to find some shelter to rest the horses, however in the middle day there was none, and man and horse endured the sweltering heat. 'Abdelhakeem' became a name frequently heard – at first in longing tones, later in curses. At the third day the men reached a consensus that the old man had built his wintercamp simply too far away.

Ester stayed isolated from most of them, resting off to the side and not getting involved in conversation. Ardeth explained that Abdelhakeem was the former leader of the second tribe of the Medjai, a position now taken by his son. A practical man, he had abandoned the camp they were trying to reach because it was too far from the oasis the Medjai used as permanent basecamp. Now the men would be sure to tell the old man that in fact, it was not far _enough_ from the basecamp.

He smiled when he said it, that rare, infectious smile. Then all too soon the worry returned to his eyes, about the wounded, the horses, if the well in the camp would still yield enough water for them all, and also about his own horse Athir. Carrying two riders took more from the horse than either of them wished, however the spare horse they had left unburdened for this purpose had turned out to be incapable of moving at speed with two riders. Some switching had proved fruitless, and Athir started to lose his shine.

As had all the horses, though to everyone's surprise Khamaseen was better off than most. Despite his erratic behaviour the horse had more energy than most other horses. Ester had seen Ardeth give the horse a contemplating look, and wondered for a moment if she should suggest they ride the grey horse.

Then again she had no wish for him to break his neck. For one thing, it would help her chances of survival not at all. For another, and it took some time to admit to this to herself, his rare smile brought warmth to where before had only been cold emptiness.

She had no wish to analyse that sensation, nor to find it more often. He was kind and he had helped her, and she would go back to her people and face what was there to face. Any other notion would simply be unrealistic, and she did not hold with silly romantic ideas when her life was anything but romantic.

They walked part of the third day to give the beasts a rest. Ester, riding a spare mount while Athir walked along listlessly, tried not to think about how her own people would receive her. These men, the Medjai, seemed to have… grown used to her. No longer did she receive outright hostile looks, though many still studiously ignored her. Was that last still due to their displeasure with her presence, or simple proprieties? From what Fouad had indicated she guessed many of the men had thought to become the rescue party of a spoilt lady, and when she turned out to be less troublesome than they had expected, their disapproval faded to indifference.

Finally at the late morning of the fourth day there was the camp, wind-swept but with enough shelter to seem like the most luxurious tent ever built. She helped taking tack off the horses while others cleared out the well and started to bring up water. Soon everybody was busy carrying water or tack to various places, and she found herself without work. Now that she felt capable of helping it was uncomfortable to do nothing while the others worked, so she looked around for something to do.

One of the men sat in the cooking circle caught her eyes and gestured for her to come over.

"If you wish for something to do, you could make the bread."

His tone was gruff, but he at least acknowledged her and recognised her need to be useful. For that she was grateful. While others built a fire, she made the mixture for the coarse bread in several bowls and put them aside to wait until there was a bed of hot ashes to bake the bread. Meanwhile the stew was made with chunks of dried horsemeat and whatever dried roots they had left.

The men around her talked about their homes, how they were looking forward to seeing their wives, growing children, the newborn camels and foals. They ignored her, but she was grateful, for that gave her the chance to learn more about their nature. The long-awaited shelter and water of this camp made their spirits soar and their conversations reflected it.

A shape suddenly loomed over her and she startled, cutting her finger instead of the strip of meat she was holding. Unwilling to drop the food, she grasped around for something clean to put it on. The man who had offered her a task – the others called him Abdul-Rahim – took it from her while in one smooth movement he pressed down on the wound.

"Haytam, the water," he ordered quietly. Without a word to her, he cleaned the cut and dressed it with a strip of cloth. When it was done she thanked him, which he acknowledged with a curt little nod. Then he nodded to the bowls of dough and indicated that there was enough hot ash to bake the bread.

It was confusing, the mixture of care and coldness. Trying to show none of her puzzlement, she raked out hot coals and flattened out the dough. Unasked, another of the men pushed some more hot ash and coals her way to cover the bread.

Slowly more men joined the circle, handing out canteens so that everyone could drink. To her surprise, Ester found herself included in the light conversation about the journey and their current shelter.

The food did her exhausted body good, but her mind was tired, and she could not concentrate on the voices around her. Images churned behind her closed eyelids, of what had happened, what was to happen, and what she had lost. One day, when she came to Egypt young and optimistic, she had imagined the land of her mother to be the land of unlimited possibilities. Now, before her eyes, they were closing one by one.

She had been born into the luxury of high status and money; however that world was also an unforgiving one. To dishonour the family or refuse to conform could result in falling very far indeed.

"If you wish to sleep I will bring you to a quiet place."

Startled from her slumber she shot upright, to the amusement of the warriors around her. Fouad smiled and helped her up, guiding her to one of the huts that were still useable. Inside the air was warm and still, though some attempts to ventilate had been made. Connected by canopies several huts stood close together, their entrances shielded by curtains. Fouad left her in one of these and quickly reappeared with her bag and a bowl of water. She understood this was all there was available for washing at the moment – the well was nearly dry, and drinking water for man and beast was far more important than washing.

Not that she managed more than washing her face anyway. She took off her belt and long outer tunic, revealing the loose tunic underneath. With her boots also off and her veil loosely around her hair, she was as cool as possible while staying within the boundaries of modesty. Exhausted by the heat and the hard riding, she curled up and slept for a time.

When she awoke the hut had become stiflingly hot. The water in the washing bowl was warm, hardly refreshing. Opening the curtain across the entrance let in the hot afternoon breeze, and though it granted no coolness at least it was no longer stifling. The entrance was away from the cooking place where the others gathered, and she had now grown comfortable enough with these people to rest with the curtain tied back.

She wetted her face and laid back, gratified to feel the breeze evaporate the drops on her forehead, cooling her down.

When she woke again the shadows were long, the day on the edge of turning toward the cooler evening. From where she lay she could see the hut next to her own, and there, the curtain tied back, lay Ardeth. She smiled to see him so at ease, one arm across his chest, the other flung out toward the doorway. There was a peace to his face she had not seen before. Apparently he had put his duties aside for the moment to take a much-needed rest – or perhaps had been encouraged to do so by his second in command. Though he was strong, she knew the bloodloss of but a few days ago had taken much out of him.

Reaching over for her sketchbook, she made a quick study of his position, the dark hair half framing his face, the wide neck of his undertunic slid open to reveal a tattoage on the front of his shoulder.

Lying on her side as she was it was crude, with broad lines and wide shadows, but that seemed to fit.

She was ready to start on the definition of his features when his eyes opened and his hand came up to rub his face. He looked sleep-tousled and utterly content to indulge in this midday nap. She smiled as he stretched like a cat, but made no move to rise.

He noticed her and smiled back.

Caught watching, Ester felt a blush rise and hid her face behind her sketchbook, pretending to draw. It was a silly thing to do, but there was something about those dancing eyes that made her lose her composure.

When the blush receded, she peeked over the top of the book. He burst into silent laughter and she could not help but laugh as well. The situation was absurdly similar to how she would silently speak and laugh after bedtime with her cousin Amineh when they were both children.

Ardeth waved air toward his face and mimicked a complaint about the heat. She dragged the bowl of water closer and showed how she wet her face and turned it into the breeze, showing delight on her face.

He followed her example and she grinned at his look of pure bliss. It was clear that this side, the playful Ardeth, did not come out very often. At least not as far as she had seen.

When the laugher stilled to smiles they lay looking at each other, and Ester felt lazy and comfortable and strangely upbeat. Looking at the man looking at her, she wondered what kind of life he led that he could be so mercurial. She remembered being frightened of that stern figure, the impassive gaze.

Now she had spent some time in his presence, she thought to understand him marginally better. He had not been the leader of his people for very long, and she had the impression that he stood in the shadow of his formidable father. It could not be easy to gain the respect and command of the warriors under these circumstances, and it was no wonder that he was stern, serious with them. Here, away from the pedestal he had to stand on for his men, his lighter side surfaced.

Would anyone at home ever see it? His family, his wives? She could only hope.

Feeling his gaze on her should have unnerved her, but somehow it did not. She found him attractive, that much she could admit to herself, but in a remote, almost theoretical way. If he were not who he was and she were not who she was and the things that had happened had not happened, she might have felt it worth finding out how he felt about her. As it was he was the new leader of his people, one who could afford little controversy, and she was tainted.

That trail of thought brought many unpleasant memories with it, but somehow, in the light of day and with the traces of a smile still on her lips, they were not as gripping as they had been. In a dispassionate way she could even acknowledge that it could have been worse. If her attackers had not been so pressed to leave before sunrise…

Hard hands on her chest, her hips, shoving and tearing at clothing… there had been so many hands holding her down and clawing at her that she had been looking around to see if there was a knife within reach, to end her life before they could disgrace her.

Then a cold voice had ordered the men to dispose of her, and when one of them had not been quick enough to take his hands off her he had received a hard blow to the back of the head. She had no doubt that whoever had saved her held no concern for her virtue, but he had spared her worse, and she was grateful.

Not that in the end it would matter. Who would believe she was still pure after the attack, not to mention after weeks in the desert with a group of warriors?

Not even she believed it fully. How could she have her virtue when the hands and the lustful looks had left her feeling tainted, violated? How could she wed a man when the thought of the wedding night alone filled her with panic?

Sahir was a kind man, perhaps willing to grant her time and space. Yet if lust brought to a man's eyes the look she had witnessed, she hoped never to see lust in a man when he looked at her.

Sinking deeper into her dark thoughts, she wondered if it would not have been better to die there in the oasis, never found. The Imtiyaz family could have mourned the loss of its son and daughter, Sahir would have found another wife, and life would have gone on. Better that than have its troublesome daughter return with tainted reputation, damaging the family honour.

She could… she could still make it so, the thought surfaced. Disappear into the desert, saving her family and herself from what looked to become the greatest scandal of the Nile valleys. Her horses would do well with these Medjai, taken care of with the gentle hands that cared for their own.

Except she could not evade these men if they chose to track her, nor could she travel fast enough. And though she might be willing to take herself into the depths of the desert, she could not bring herself to consider taking a horse, condemning it to death.

"Your thoughts have turned to darkness," a voice startled her from her thoughts. It was Ardeth, his head cocked a little as he looked at her. Ester hurried to sit upright, feeling strangely caught out as if he could read her thoughts.

He handed her a cup of mint tea and asked if he could sit down. Puzzled why he asked her permission, she gestured to the ground opposite of where she sat.

"…please permit this attempt to lighten them," he continued while settling down. She mustered a smile for that kindness, and he laid out a handful of pebbles and short sticks. "I will teach you a game the desert peoples play…"


	21. chapter 20 : Traición

The Downside

Chapter 20

Traición

* * *

She had been decent playing shatarang with her father and later with her aunts and nieces, but this was a completely new game and it had taken time to learn the rules. Learning to play had been enjoyable – as she had expected Ardeth was a patient teacher, playing so that she had an enjoyable rather than an impossible challenge.

When evening fell they moved to the group around the fire, and she played several other warriors. Some took a delight in beating her soundly, others took on a teaching role like their leader had, daunting and encouraging her. When she finally played Abdul-Rahim – universally acknowledged as a formidable player – a group gathered at her shoulder to advise her. She lost nonetheless, but with the help of her supporters it wasn't such a far defeat, and she enjoyed the immersion in the group.

There was more food – a delicious treat after days of cold fare – and finally she grew weary and retreated to the hut she had used earlier.

As she lay in the darkness , listening to the talking and laughing of the men, it was hard to keep the dark thoughts at bay. What held her future? Once the incurable optimistic, she now felt afraid of the future, unwilling to face it and yet unable to turn away.

If only she could simply stop existing…

_The scent of jasmine was on the hot morning breeze._

_Her father's hacienda in Andalucia, with its arches and plastered white walls. Her mother sat in the rocking chair on the veranda, working on an intricately embroidered dress. "Buenas dias mama," she greeted, but her mother did not answer, did not seem to notice her at all. _

_"Umm?"_

_She felt herself pale as her mother did not look up from her embroidery. What had happened to bring her so in disgrace? Lifting the hem of her skirts, she ran to the stables, seeking her father and brother._

_However the stables were empty, sounds made hollow by the strawless floors. The smell of the beasts lingered, sweet and heavy with tones of leather and hay. Not even the stable dogs came to greet her. _

_"Papÿ"_

_"Hermano?"_

_A gust of cool wind shuffled some lost pieces of straw along the floor. _

_Her hands came up to her face in despair. What had happened to her home? Turning around she fled out of the stables, intending to run to the neighbours to find someone, **anyone**,to tell her what had happened. _

_She ran until she was out of breath, heart thumping in panic and fear. Only the night before everything had been normal, and ever since she had woken up her home and family had been so desperately **wrong**…_

_She arrived finally at the white arch that marked the border of the hacienca of her family. However in the distance along the gravel road was not the tall white building of the family de la Cal Delgado._

_Instead were the low adobe buildings of the Imtiyaz, family, situated around the court with the shaded benches. For as long as she remembered those benches had been a favourite seating place of members of the family and personnel alike. They were never empty. _

_Except now they were. _

_She clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back a sob of panic and ran inside, calling for her uncles, aunts, cousins, nieces, nephews, for servants, dogs, horses, **anyone.**_

_Suddenly there was Amal, coming through a doorway in his familiar long paces. She ran toward him, calling his name in relief. He did not react, and she slid to a halt some metres away from him, cold horror grasping her as his eyes slid over where she stood without seeing her. _

_"Allah… no… Amal? Please?"_

_She begged him to look at her, to see her, but her cousin continued on, deaf to her pleading._

_When the stables were as empty as they had been in the hacienda, the tears could no longer be contained. She stumbled blindly out of the stables and sank to the ground against a rough wall, letting the plastering scrape her back. Resting her head on her drawn-up knees, she cried for her lost family._

__

The scent of jasmine was on the hot morning breeze.

__

Hard hooves thundered along the racing tracks, horses stretching themselves to the rousing calls of their riders. Yah! Yah!

_She followed them with her eyes, to despondent to really react. The horses did not stop but passed her by, leaving her feeling even more forlorn than before. _

_The sun beat down without mercy, and she did not know how long she sat there. Time lost meaning. There was only the boundless grief and despair over a loss she did not understand._

_Then there was a soft padding of feet in the sand._

_A camel lowed. _

_Ester did not look up, withdrawn within her grief. _

_Where did a camel come from? Her family did not keep them, though she had learnt to ride one at one of the spring races some years ago. A family a day's travel North bred racing camels. Perhaps they had lost one. _

_Then after some time, she was no longer alone. Someone had come with the camel, though she did not see and did not look. She only knew that a presence drifted through the empty houses and stables of her life, accompanied her without touching her or showing itself, gentle and reassuring. She was no longer alone._

"You know the laws better than anyone! And you will not dishonour this woman by pretending this did not happen."

It was the heated pitch that woke her with a jolt, the strict tones of arguments she had heard many times between Amal and her uncle. It brought a sick, confused feeling to her stomach.

"Nothing _did _happen, Imar! I went in to ease her from a dark dream, I fell asleep an arm's length away. The laws do not apply."

Ardeth's voice. His words chilled her deeply.

"You spent the night in her tent! I will bear witness of it to the council."

With that the argument seemed to end and she heard one of the men stride off. The words took their own time to penetrate her still waking mind.

Laws…

Dishonour…

Fell asleep…

Witness to the council?

She could not fully comprehend the situation yet, but it looked as if her life was once again about to change – and once again without her consent. Sudden defiance kindled within her heart. She had been a little meeker, a little less strong-headed then usual in her time with these people. At first it had been no effort at all, later on she had continued in the same vein because it seemed most likely to keep her safe.

Best not to offend one's rescuers.

Right now she threw caution away.

She heard Ardeth take a deep breath before entering her hut.

"You heard that, did you not?"

She nodded, unsure what to say. He sighed in resignation and sat down, a few metres between them. His face settled in its customary impassive mask.

"Medjai law says we are married."

She reeled back from those words. Whatever she had expected, they landed upon her like a raging storm, blistering and confusing her.

"No… no that cannot be so. I did not consent to that. It can't be so."

"I spent the night here—"

"I didn't wish you to!"

"—I came to comfort you and unintentionally fell asleep. Imar witnessed, and Medjai laws declare that we are now married."

"No. No—I am not Medjai. I am not bound by your laws. I will not be your wife!"

Feeling ill, she backed away, wanting more space between them. The same panicked, falling feeling overcame her that had held her in its grip some days ago in the abandoned city. He couldn't touch her. He couldn't look at her. Thought of that alone tried to turn her stomach.

"Please leave," she choked out, trying to keep her breath under control. Her body seemed to have gained a life on its own, sending powerful messages to her stomach and head. She felt cold, ill, as if she was falling.

She was dimly aware that he rose, and if she had had the presence of mind to recognise it, she would have seen that he gazed down upon her distressed form with regret in his eyes.

"You are with the Medjai, therefore you are bound by our laws."

* * *

Shatarang - chess 

Umm - mother

* * *

Thanks for the lovely reviews! We are gearing up toward the end (I wonder if I'm surprising anyone with this story or if you all anticipate what I've got in store) so you can expect the next chapter pretty soon. 

Still begging for feedback here! Surprised, shocked, pleased, dismayed? What will happen now? Did the dream-state work for you?

Let me know :-)

Cheers,

Arwen Lune


	22. chapter 21 : Decisión

The Downside

Chapter 21

_Decisión_

_

* * *

_By the end of the afternoon she no longer felt ill. Emptying her stomach had helped, but most of all her anger hardened her. Strangely enough it were his own words that had given her hope – as long as she was with the Medjai, she would be bound by their laws. She took this literally, which meant the sooner she was out of their company and on her way home, the sooner this horrifying nightmare would be over. An uncharacteristic rush made itself master of her. The quicker she was in their camp, the quicker she could set out for home. 

If the façade had to last that far, so be it, but she would not play her part.

It was Fouad who came to get her when the sun started to sink. When he saw her sit against the back wall of the hut, arms wrapped around herself and packed bags in front of her, he shook his head sadly.

"He did not mean for this to happen."

"The last thing I meant to do was to give another person rights over my body!"

He nodded gravely and helped her up. She could walk short lengths on her own now, but getting up was a problem.

"Will you wish to ride with me today?"

No longer caring about offending Ardeth, she nodded gratefully, and he took her outside. The horses were saddled, flasks filled, riders ready to mount. Evidently they had left her in her hut until the last moment. If this was concern for her or for Ardeth, she did not know.

Upon seeing her Khamaseen neighed loudly, twisting and turning to move closer and giving his handler a difficult time. Walking over to stroke him, Ester found that riding alone was even more appealing than riding with someone other than Ardeth. She turned back to Fouad.

"If you do not mind, I would try to ride by myself today."

He looked concerned, but somehow the determination in her stance convinced him. The warrior that had been holding her horse released the reins to her.

"How will you mount?"

Each time before, Ardeth had lifted her into the saddle. The thought alone made her shudder. Thankfully, if the horse was in a gentle mood today, it would not be necessary.

Tapping the horse lightly on the knee, she guided his head down. He shuffled his feet for a moment, and she murmured "Down, sadiqi, down…"

It took but a few moments for the horse to decide that today was a suitable day to be compliant, and he slowly sank to the ground, hindquarters thudding sideways into the sand in that inelegant way horses' own.

Heart leaping at this small evidence of independence, Ester leant on her staff to raise her leg over his back, and when she half sat, half stood over the horse, she grabbed on to the saddle and clacked her tongue.

The horse pulled his legs under his mass with a grunt, rose on his forelegs, quickly found his hind legs, and sand streamed from his hide as he stood. Ester was mounted.

The men around her whispered busily among themselves, their eyes alternately going to her and to their leader. Trying to steel herself against it, she lifted her chin, assuming the arrogance of a daughter of Imtiyaz among those of lesser status. Being in their good graces no longer concerned her.

Her grey horse moved restlessly, excited as always by being surrounded by horses with mounting riders. Convinced it was a race, he rose on his hind legs, eager to be off. Grasping on to the front of the saddle to stop herself from sliding, she pressed him lightly with her lower legs and he dropped down on all fours, taking off in an impatiently jigging gait.

The group came into formation and she puzzled to find the right place to join it. The young man Rafid led her bay horse, but if she was in conflict with their leader she could not expect his confidantes to welcome her.

Guiding Khamaseen to the rear of the group she decided that riding last, away from the watchful eyes, would suit her very well.

The ride was calmer of pace than the previous marches had been, and now and then she saw Ardeth ride slightly to the side so that he could see her when he looked back. Knowing that he was most likely easing the pace to make sure she would not have problems, she felt restless, conflicted.

She was still angry, furious by the implication that she could be decided over in such a way, but there was an additional gut-feeling that chilled her whenever her thoughts strayed toward him. She realised that she had grown accustomed to him, learnt to feel safe because he was bound by the same boundaries of propriety as she was. Once she had grown to trust that he was an honourable man, she had felt quite safe for the most part, as she would have felt with a male relative perhaps.

However, now he was no longer bound by the conventions of decency. The rights over her body belonged quite literally to him. On some level she could believe he would not use them, but a large part of her saw no way of being at ease around him now those rigid and safe restrictions had come down.

Though her horse's gait was smooth as glass and he was in an exceptionally gentle mood, Ester soon found the riding exhausting. Her leg hurt and it was hard to keep her balance with her one leg hindered by the construction that supported it. Khamaseen cantered while the others moved in a steady trot, but every irregularity in the rhythm grated on her nerves.

Just when the thought came up that she might have to admit her defeat and ask for help, they slowed to a walk to give the horses a breather. Spirit still as undaunted as it had always been, the grey horse breathed out loudly, challenging whoever might hear him. She stroked the crest of his neck with a smile. Without sense he might be, but without spirit he was not. Though the horse had visibly lost weight during the ordeal of the past few weeks, he seemed to have inherited the toughness of the line of his Berber dam.

* * *

The next noon they stopped in the shade of a rock wall. Despite her protests Fouad helped her down from her horse, accepting no refusal. 

"I'll not have you damage yourself," he said strictly, and she got the message. They indulged her if she wished to ride independently, but her freedom had its limits.

She loosened the girth of the saddle and settled down in the thin strip of shade, keeping hold of the reins so that the grey horse could not stir up trouble. It was dangerous to sit so close, especially before a stallion, but she saw no other option. Khamaseen would not suffer himself to be hobbled, and letting him go as the warriors did with most of their horses would surely cause unrest among the herd.

Back against the sheer rock wall, she ate her portion of bread and cold leftover stew. Then she nodded off, the long slow breaths of her horse brushing past her ear.

* * *

"Hadritik?" 

She woke with a jolt, making the horse throw up its head. A small distance away stood Rafid, lithan not yet covering his face so that she might recognise him.

"It is time for you to prepare yourself for the evening march."

She nodded, and he offered her a hand to help her up.

* * *

Her hips ached from the uncomfortable position the splint enforced, and she soon decided that sleeping upright those couple of hours had been a mistake. Khamaseen, invigorated from the rest and his share of water, played up, trying to pass the horses before him, jigging and bouncing. 

"La'a!"

Temper fraying with the knowledge she was not in control of her horse, she put pressure on the left rein, pushing with her right leg so that the grey horse spun. A few hissed curses did not serve to improve his behaviour, but it relieved her tension somewhat. To be fair the horse had been more than kind with her so far. She would never have tried to ride him when less than fully able if it hadn't been her only option.

Darkness fell, and with it the nightly chill of the desert. With only one hand free it was a struggle to adjust the veil in front of her face. She had found a place somewhat aside the last riders that had settled the horse somewhat, but by now she was in too much pain to focus on anything more than the teeth-grinding routine of staying in balance.

* * *

"Do you find it time for a rest?" 

She cursed under her breath, knowing she should have felt his approach by the movements of her horse. Ardeth steered over next to her, keeping some metres between them. She idly wondered if it was care for her personal space or care for the unpredictable teeth of her mount.

"If it is time for a rest I would welcome it," she answered carefully. She wasn't about to admit that riding on her own was too heavy to handle. Having to return to riding in front of him would be the ultimate defeat.

He gave her a sombre look.

"These laws are not intended to trammel one in marriage, Ester."

Surprised at the kind tone, she did not know what to say.

"Medjai live much of their lives as nomads. In such a situation a couple may not wish to wait until such a time as there can be a proper ceremony. To avoid sinning, it was decided long ago that a night shared in a tent or hut may carry the same function."

She shrugged.

"Whatever it was intended for, it still did… this." She gestures to herself and to him. "against my wish."

Ardeth nodded. "Since we were witnessed, it would not be honourable of me to annul this marriage. It would be seen as shirking my responsibility toward you."

She bridled, but he stilled her with a motion of his hand.

"That does not mean it is impossible to annul. When we reach our camp, I will plead the case to the council of elders, so that they may decide the proper course."

"And they will decide to release me?"

He sighed deeply.

"I do not know, Ester. I hope so. I have no wish for an unwilling wife…"

He was silent for a while, as if mulling something over.

"Though I wonder if you have not considered it. You have said yourself that your freedom would be curtailed on your return, your options limited… I offer a life among the Medjai, a practical people willing to embrace the resourceful and bold of heart."

A shudder crawled along her spine. He was actually asking her to consider staying with him! The thought alone chilled her. How could she stay and acknowledge this marriage when the very thought of being touched by him turned her blood cold?

Yet still… there was truth in his words. Her options _were_ limited.

"You would do that? Have me for a wife?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

A sad smile washed over his face, and she thought he shook his head, as if he had wanted to say something but changed his mind. Then he shrugged.

"Insha Allah."

Strengthening her resolve, she decided that while he could believe that God had arranged for this to happen, she refused to believe He would put her in a marriage that distressed her so.

"Will you not consider it?"

Not knowing what to answer without causing offence , she rode in silence for a while, concentrating on keeping her horse away from the others.

There was little doubt in her that he was a good man. His impassive face and taciturn behaviour had frightened at first, for she was accustomed to the expressive men of her family.

Volatile they could be, the people of Imtiyaz. Full of emotions just barely contained, anger and joy both. She remembered with a smile Amal as he gave his horse its head and whooped to the desert sky, his heart overflowing with a delight so great it could not be restrained.

Her family argued loudly and they sang loudly, uninhibited by virtue of their high status.

Now she had learned to see it, she knew it was his undemonstrative nature, along with his position as leader, that made Ardeth what he was, and it no longer concerned her.

Perhaps, in another life, it could have worked.

However she was not what he wanted, could not be the wife of the leader of a tribe. Doubtless his poor choice of wife would lead to strife between him and his people, and between them both.

Sahir may not be a great prize, but she knew him well, would be accepted by the people of his house. Though her move there was not the most attractive prospect, she knew that she would be able to find her place there, perform the tasks that fell to her, perhaps in time build some happiness. The realised it was the safer option she chose for, but right now safe was what she needed.

"I wish to go home."

* * *

To be continued...

With my thanks to Tamara, faithful supporter of this story :-)

Cheers,  
Arwen


	23. chapter 22 : Llegada

The Downside

Chapter 22

_Llegada_

_

* * *

_

The men were more talkative than usual, and as the sky lightened she saw many of them look around more keenly than before. She had been told that they expected to arrive in late morning, and it was clear this was already familiar ground to most of the men.

How would things go from here? She was worried about encountering the rest of his tribe, about being called before the council. They would have to form a party to escort her to her home, and that would not be possible for at least a week. She didn't know what she would do in that time, what she _could_ do. Being the one to receive guests in the house of her family, it made her uncomfortable and unsure to be a guest herself.

Then there was the matter of the annulment of the marriage. Every day it lasted weighed heavily on her heart. Not only had it become more solid and threatening in the four days since that fateful night, she had grown more and more aware of the possibility that it would not be annulled after all. The very same day would have had more chance, she pondered. Who would believe the marriage had not been consummated after 4 days?

Would they refuse to return her to her family if that were the case? Keep her among them like some domesticated stray?

She shook herself. Nothing Ardeth had said indicated that he would keep her against her wishes. Then again if the marriage was not annulled, where did that leave her? He at least could take another wife, if he did not have several already. She would be forced to live her life as it was, with no options at all. Never released, never able to marry another.

Now that she considered it, that did not seem such a terrible option. With an excuse never to marry, there would be no wedding night, no wifely duties. Though her cousins did not seem to object to that part of married life, she decided she had seen enough of male urges to last her a lifetime.

Though this also meant she would have no children.

Old enough to be an aunt a dozen times over, she had shared in the joys and hardships of parenthood. Though there would surely be enjoyable pursuits to fill a life without children, she had always hoped that path would be hers someday.

With Sahir it became hers. And maybe in time she could grow to accept the marital duties if her reward was to have a child…

A faraway whoop echoed through the valley, and all men looked up to the same point. On a dune high above them stood a man ahorse, an arm raised in hail. When Ardeth had returned the hail, the man he turned his mount and sped off, presumably to warn the camp of their coming.

The group sped up, man and horse eager to reach their destination. She rode one of the horses of her uncle now, Khamaseen tethered to the saddle. The dappled grey was not as comfortably familiar as her own horses, and she was eager to dismount and rest a while.

The camp lay between two high dunes, shielded from the scorching desert winds. She could not easily count the tents, for they were connected with sunscreens made of a thin, gauzy fabric. At least twenty five, she thought, all put together in a great circle, an open fireplace in its midst. Between the closed tents Medjai women, children and elders rose to their feet, approaching the group of riders that now drew near.

Ester held back her horse, unsure how to act. All around her warriors were hailed by their families, joyfully embraced, their horses praised for returning their riders unharmed. The wounded were helped to dismount and quickly helped into different tents by their families.

To her great surprise, but one woman approached Ardeth. Tall like him, with her dark curly hair caught underneath a loose veil. Around her neck hung a pectoral ornament alike that which Ardeth wore, but hers was a silver colour. She had the lines in her face which indicated her to be of age with Ester's uncle, yet a great beauty had not diminished, only changed.

"Ahlan, ibn i!" she called out, folding him into an embrace that could only be motherly. Sharp eyes searched his form, admonished him for riding long and hard while he was wounded. He spoke with her under his breath for a few moments, and then turned toward Ester.

"Umm Fahyallah, this is Ester. Please be so kind as to take her into your home while I go to mine, for she needs rest and nourishment."

At this the woman gave Ester a critical look and nodded, evidently agreeing that she could use some feeding up.

"I will come to speak with you both when the heat of day retreats."

He left then, leaving his horse to a boy. Nervous, for she knew this was someone who could have great influence upon her case with the council, Ester greeted the woman formally.

"Is salaam 'alaykum."

Fahyallah smiled and replied "wa 'alaykum is. Come with me, the boys will care for your horses."

Trying not to look sceptical as a boy of maybe nine approached Khamaseen, she reluctantly handed over the rains.

"Take care with the grey, he's very volatile…"

She would have given more instructions if Fahyallah had not gently guided her away, saying with a smile that the boy was very competent. Too tired to resist, Ester allowed herself to be led into one of the tents.

* * *

Fahyallah helped her bathe and dress in clean clothes with kind efficiency. When she was sitting before the low table, clean and comfortably sleepy, they ate, and talked a little. The elder women had been informed about the marriage situation by her son and wished to know her side of the story. Figuring the mother of the leader would be influential, Ester did her best to recall the details. 

Seeing that the topic distressed Ester, Fahyallah gently questioned for the reason she had been in lost in the desert in the first place. Slowly, with hitched breath and sharp, painful tears, the story came out. The sudden figures appearing in the light of the campfire, the horrible chill in their eyes, the tearing of her tunic. Bile rose in her throat at the all-to-detailed memories.

The older woman handed her a cup of cool water.

"I am sorry to have you recall the event. They had no right and it is horrible what you had to go through. I hope you can find some measure of comfort in knowing that my son avenged you and yours."

Ester mustered a wan smile.

"It is good to know I was their last."

Fahyallah nodded.

"There is a reason I wished to know about what happened. The annulment of a marriage is a grave matter in our society, and the council often prefers to find a way to make these marriages function."

Before Ester could react, she continued.

"However it is clear to me that not only this match, but marriage in general would not be in your interest. If you can swear upon your honour that there is no possible way you could be with child—" She looked at Ester, who nodded quickly, "—then I will recommend this to the council."

New tears flowed with the relief of those words. All this time she had prepared herself for a group of dour old men, bent on upholding their laws. Now it seemed as if she had found an ally.

When she had eaten the other woman led her to a sectioned-off area of the tent and helped her settle down on a sleeping mat.

Only slightly dimmed she could hear the sounds of the camp all around her, children playing, men and women talking softly. In almost all these tents was a warrior who had rejoined his family. Their lives must centre around saying farewells and rejoicing in the returns.

She slept deeply and without dreams.

* * *

"She sleeps so well I would not wake her, Ardeth. It would be better to speak with her in the morning." 

"That is well. She has ridden on her own these past few days."

"I am afraid it will be some days before the council can assemble, son. Hasuf has gone to visit his daughter's family with the third tribe."

"That is unfortunate. How do you estimate the council will rule?"

"I will plead that the marriage was unintended and undesired by you both. That no child could stem from it, and that she has a compelling reason to wish to be released. Hasuf will likely agree with me that there is no sense binding you in such an unfortunate union. However Yafiah, Munahid and some of the others may well think that considering your advancing age and lack of heirs, any marriage is better than no marriage at all."

"Tell them, mother, that I promise to concentrate on finding a suitable wife."

"Yes. It is unfortunate that you have given them such leverage over you…"

"She wept in her sleep. Should I have stayed away while she exhausted herself in hurtful dreams?"

Ester shivered as the memory of that dream presented itself, unbidden rising to the front of her mind. He had never told her she had cried in her dream, but now she remembered the presence she had dreamt of, the comforting knowledge that she was no longer alone. For all its unfortunate consequences, she was grateful that he had found it within his heart to soothe her nightmares.

Now that she had reached the destination, Ester found that she could sleep for a week. Her body, healing slowed by the need to travel almost continually, made use of the reprieve to finally begin its recovery, and she sank back into a deep sleep.

* * *

She woke with the smell of breakfast; fresh bread and mint tea. When she had rewrapped her veil and put on her outer robes, Fahyallah looked around the curtain that separated the sleeping quarters from the rest of the tent. 

"You are decent? That is well. A visitor has arrived early this morning…"

She looked back and gestured someone to come closer.

"He tells me he is your uncle."

* * *

Ibn I – my son  
Umm - mother  
is salaam 'alaykum - peace be upon you  
wa 'alaykum is salaam – upon you be peace

* * *

My thanks to Valis2, faithful reviewer and booster of writing morale! Finally I have the words _not_ to describe this story with: bodice-ripping frenzy! I'll have to use that somewhere now… grin>

Cheers,

Arwen


	24. chapter 23 : Finale

**The Downside**

Chapter 23

_Finale

* * *

_

Ester felt as if all the blood left her face, and she leant on her hands to avoid toppling over. Her uncle had come? She had expected to have several days more before that confrontation. Of all the things she had feared most about her return it was facing him to tell of Amal's death.

Fahyallah was next to her suddenly, laying a warm hand on her shoulder.

"If you are not ready I can ask him to wait until you have composed yourself…"

She began to nod, grateful for the reprieve, when a male voice came from beyond the curtain.

"Ukht-bint, are you well?"

Ester felt her eyes widen. That was not the uncle she had expected!

"Abdul-Jalil?" she asked incredulously. "Please come in…"

Fahyallah raised an eyebrow at this sudden change, but retreated a few paces when the man entered. Ester mustered a smile for the youngest brother of her mother, a handsome man in his forties with a short beard.

"Ester! It is good to see you are well."

She found herself subject to an appraising look, as if he tried to judge her condition and how well she had been cared for. Face softening, he bowed to Fahyallah, then turned back to her.

"We searched for more than a week without result before we encountered a group of these people – they directed us to this camp, hoping that the patrol here would have found your party."

Yes. Her party. They had not been looking only for her.

"Uncle forgive me—" she choked out. "Amal—"

"I know, ukht-bint, they told me," he answered, grief in his voice. "This is a hard blow for our family. We must leave at once to inform my brothers."

Ester nodded, relieved with the prospect of leaving soon, but at the same time she wondered if the to-be-annulled wedding did not necessitate her to stay until the council had ruled on it.

It took but a moment longer to realise that her uncle had not been told about it. Should she do so? Yes, of course she should, conscience supplied. However her practical mind knew it was likely to ruin her chances upon her return home. The slim chance that Sahir would still be willing to accept her would evaporate with the knowledge that she had been married. These people might be pragmatic enough to disband a marriage such as this, at home no one would believe she could still be chaste after a marriage, however short.

All that flashed through her mind as she nodded. From the corner of her eye she saw the older woman give a tiny nod, and she took that as a sign that if she chose not to tell, Fahyallah would not do so either.

"Your horses are weary, sir, and you must be also. Be our guest until sundown at least, so that you may start well-prepared in the cool of evening," the Medjai woman said.

After a moment Abdul-Jalil nodded.

"I thank you for your hospitality and for your care for my niece. I will tell the men to settle our horses if you can indicate where we can tether them."

To Ester he said: "To you, dear ukht-bint, I say to rest some more! We will ride two days to our rendezvous point, and from there some days more to our home."

With that he left, and Fahyallah followed him to settle her guests in the guest-quarters. Ester was left behind, shaking with tension. She clutched at her sketchbook as if it could help her preserve her composure. Now it came close, the prospect of going home was almost as alarming as was staying here.

* * *

Some time later Ardeth entered the tent, settling down in the common area with his breakfast. He smiled at her and gestured for her to join him.

"It is our custom to break fast together when I am in camp. Fahallah will return shortly."

It was strange to sit opposite each other over breakfast, so absurdly normal that the events of the past weeks seemed far away. Now that it looked as if she wound leave soon, his proximity was no longer as distressing as before.

"Your uncle seems a kind man," he remarked after a while.

"He is", she agreed. "He is my mother's youngest brother."

He nodded, but she sensed a hint of surprise.

"Not the one who leads your family then?"

"Oh no. Uncle Umayyad Kalifah is not nearly so… pragmatic as Abdul-Jalil."

They were silent for some time, and Ester wondered if he had thought her stories about her family exaggerated when he first met her uncle. It was true that Abdul-Jalil was a kind man; however he could afford to be pragmatic and leave the complicated issues to his eldest brother. As the head of the family, Umayyad Kalifah would have to rule over the fate of his ukht-bint – Abdul-Jalil only had to bring her home.

"You have not told him?"

"Should I have?" she asked, a note of defiance in her voice. He shook his head.

"That is not my decision to make. It may even help our case if you leave without awaiting the ruling of the council. If you could not suffer to be in my presence any longer and returned to your home, there is no way we could be forced to attempt this marriage. The status of my first wife will be high – if you were to take that status away from the Medjai, my second and true wife would be greatly disadvantaged. The elders know this. Your leaving may force their hand in our favour…"

She nodded slowly. It was in the interest of the tribe that their leader had a wife, not simply a union with a woman far away. Short of dragging her back, they'd have to release her from the obligation to allow him to marry in truth.

"In which case it may be better to keep up the impression that we cannot suffer to be in each other's presence," Ardeth mused. Before he rose, he took her hand and gently pressed a chaste kiss to it. A slight shock travelled up her arm and the felt a blush rise. With her departure imminent and her uncle in camp the boundaries were once again clear, and even her subconscious could not find cause for alarm.

She was somewhat unnerved by those kind eyes, eyes that no doubt noticed the beginning of a blush. Masking the confusing feeling with words, she said:

"I thank you for your care for me and for the bodies of my people, and for avenging us. If there comes a time in which I may repay such deeds, I will not have forgotten it."

He smiled, and inclined his head in acceptance. That he should acknowledge that vow rather than dismiss it pleased her more than she could explain.

"And I thank you for your company and your fortitude. I pray that your return home will go well for you. However if it does not and you have nowhere to turn to, ride for the rendezvous point that you will see on your way home. The seventh tribe of the Medjai dwells in that area and they will bring you here, where you will always be welcome."

She stuttered trying to find an answer to that thoughtful offer, and he continued, as if he knew it was almost too large to accept: "You would not be the first to find refuge with my people. Consider it an option for if all other options fail."

Her eyes misted at such warm kindness.

"My thanks for your consideration."

He rose and gave her a solemn bow, a true farewell. Then, schooling his features into harsh irritation as if she vexed him greatly, he left the tent, and she did not see him again.

The shadows grew long when Ester Imtiyaz Il Fernández turned her horse and looked down on the camp of the Medjai, a dark circle far away, about to disappear behind the ridge of a dune. Would she see these people again? She already missed their great-hearted acceptance of who she was. Still she hoped not, hoped that her own people would accept her back after all that had happened; that she would have no need to leave everything to take refuge in the desert.

However that thoughtful offer of refuge lightened her heart considerably. She was not without options.

And if there was a pair of warm brown eyes that would stay with her in her dreams - well what would life be like without dreams?

END!

* * *

__

Ukht-bint – sister-daughter

(hyperventilates It's done! It's done!)

_**End note:**_

_Sorry if I disappointed anyone with this ending. I was going to take the romantic road, but really, they just weren't ready and I didn't want to twist their arms. They would have stopped being themselves had I tried to force the matter. _

_Yes, it's a relatively open ending. Deal with it. Use your imagination. What will happen now? It's up to you. If you like happy endings, feel free to fantasise about Ardeth coming after her. _

_There may be a sequel at some point, but I really don't like it (honestly) when I've just finished a big project and all people do is call for a sequel. I just wrote 55 000 words; love them, hate them, but please let them stand on their own…_

_Also, I don't much like stories where you know from the beginning with absolute certainty that they are Destined For Each Other. Kind of makes it rather boring to write… You do away with half the plot of you already know the ending! If they do end up together at some point, that's not destiny but a conjuncture of human emotions, circumstances and (ir)rational decisions. _

_We'll see. _

_In any case thanks for sticking with me (5 years… jeez… unbelievable…), thank-you to my faithful reviewers and feedback-ers (you know who you are) and thank-you to my lovely horse Rowan Roheryn for bringing me back, each time, to the essence of this story. _

_Now tell me what it made you feel. _

_Please?_

_Cheers,_

_Arwen Lune_


End file.
